


changing seasons

by meridies



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family Dynamics, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28825125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meridies/pseuds/meridies
Summary: When he graduated from university, Ranboo crossed the world to begin an apprenticeship with the greatest dragon wrangler in the world: Technoblade. But to his disappointment, Techno didn't seem interested in being a mentor at all. In fact, he seemed to actively hate Ranboo, and ignored him at every turn. So Ranboo set out with another goal in mind: get on Techno's good side.Nothing about this would go wrong whatsoever.
Relationships: Ranboo & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade
Comments: 202
Kudos: 1340





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ranboo knows what a kinlist is and definitely also knows what ao3 is. so ranboo, if you're reading this: please don't. 
> 
> anyway im back in my worldbuilding phase and i ended up writing 25k for it. found family ft. grudging mentor techno, overeager apprentice ranboo, and dragons. enjoy!

The Eastern Wastelands were a very dangerous place to be if one didn’t know how to properly navigate them.

Fortunately, Ranboo was an excellent navigator. 

His compass he wore on a chain around his neck, and his pack was always held close to his side. He knew what foods were safe to eat, what highways were decent to travel upon, the proper places to rest, where small towns and villages were scattered along the route. He was on his way towards an apprenticeship, after all. The last thing he wanted to do was accidentally die on the way there.

The apprenticeship itself was what made Ranboo trek the hundred-mile journey. After finishing his three year courses at the best university one could find (West Bridge University, located in Rochester, the largest city known to man) Ranboo was seeking the unexplored. One person offered information to another, and another, and eventually Ranboo found out that across the entire world— across Rochester, the Eastern Wastelands, and nearly to where the sun slept— there was a dragon wrangler who had a position open.

Not just any dragon wrangler, too. The  _ best  _ dragon wrangler. 

Ranboo had heard tales about dragons and their wranglers, the fierce, rugged people who lived out in the middle of nowhere to brave the mythical creatures. People at West Bridge spoke about them like they were mystical; people who knew ways to protect against dragon fire, to mimic the calls dragons made in the wild, who were some of the strongest people known to man.

To be an apprentice to a dragon wrangler? Never mind the one dragon wrangler who was famed above all? 

Ranboo had scored gold. He wouldn’t find a better opportunity if he waited a hundred years.

So he sent a message back, eagerly asking (one might call it begging, but Ranboo digressed) and finally, finally got a response.

_ Yes. _

That brought him to now. The moon rose high overhead and Ranboo found a comfortable place to rest for the night. He was sure that he could keep going, but the next part of his journey was in open land, and it would be easier to sleep by the sparse treeline. 

He slid off his horse and winced at how short he suddenly felt. Now that night had fallen, there wasn’t as much natural light; Ranboo twisted the knob on the side of his goggles, and everything suddenly came into harsh green focus. He was still tweaking the night-vision settings (Ranboo wasn’t entirely sure if there was a way to get rid of the tint) but they worked wonderfully. Enough so that Ranboo could find everything in his pack without fumbling for it. 

He stretched out his sleeping mat on the ground, struck up a fire, and set about making a meal. 

The fire popped; sparks flew into the air and winked out. Ranboo stretched his legs, adjusted the settings for his goggles so one eye was night-vision and the other was regular, and stared at the sky. 

It wasn’t easy to stay still. He was nearly vibrating out of his skin with excitement. Ranboo had always been interested in dragons and mythical creatures, ever since he was a child, and now he was about to get the chance to study them. And not just study— he had scored an apprenticeship with the most feared and most respected dragon wrangler known to man.

Technoblade.

Technoblade was only the moniker, but no one knew what the man’s real name is. The rumors flew about him; he was spawned out of ground, fire in one hand and brimstone in the other; he was raised by dragons in the wild and could speak their language; he was a fire master himself, and could counter whatever fire dragons spit at him with his own magic; he murdered the last great dragon wrangler to take the title for himself. 

Ranboo didn’t know whether any of those were real. What he did know was that Technoblade was a solitary man. One had to be solitary if they lived so far out in the Eastern Wastelands. There wasn’t much socialization at all. Technoblade surely also had to be skilled and strong. Dragons were dangerous, and they would kill you with ease if you weren’t careful.

But Ranboo hardly cared about the dangers of dragon wrangling. He was only a few hours away from what might be the best two years of his life, until he had gotten all the knowledge he needed and returned to Rochester to finish his next few years of studying. 

The stars began to speckle the sky, and his campfire turned from flickering orange to the dull, muted red of embers. Sleep began to pull at his mind with long fingers, and Ranboo yawned wide. He wanted to be well-rested for tomorrow, after all. He was likely only an hour’s ride to Technoblade’s encampment. 

Ranboo unpeeled his goggles from his head, gave his eyes a few moments to adjust to the darkness. 

When he fell asleep, he dreamed of dragons.

* * *

Ranboo woke up to the sound of wings.

His eyes widened, and he scrambled to sit up properly. 

A shadow swooped overhead, too large to be anything but mythical. Ranboo’s eyes went as wide as dinner plates, and he fumbled for his goggles, strapping them around his head. He stamped out the smoking coals from the night before; the horse he traveled with was obviously spooked, terrified. It tossed its head back, the whites around its eyes vivid. 

“Don’t worry,” Ranboo urged the horse, and cast another glance upwards. There were three distinct specks, swiveling around the sun. So high they were nearly sunspots. 

He rolled his sleeping mat into a tight cylinder, folded all his belongings into a traveling pack. He risked another glance upwards. Ranboo squinted at the sun, trying to see better, and switched to his magnifying lenses. His goggles clicked; Ranboo spotted a swirling figure above him, what looked to be only a miniature lizard with wings, but was ten times larger than Ranboo was. It was tan and black-spotted and had a tail laced with barbs. Ranboo watched as it flapped its wings once, born aloft by invisible currents.

It was a dragon. The first one Ranboo had ever seen in the wild.

“No way,” Ranboo muttered, and strained his eyes to look at it better, “That’s  _ incredible _ .”

His horse whinnied and stomped at the ground. Regretfully, Ranboo set his vision back to regular and hoisted one foot into the stirrups, swung the other leg over. He could sense the panic ricocheting through the horse right now. That made sense. Apparently, horses got eaten by dragons a  _ lot. _

“Go on, now,” Ranboo muttered, and dug his heels into the side. 

The horse, terrified,  _ bolted.  _

Wind rushed past Ranboo’s hair. He clung to his saddlebag, dug through it to ensure that he hadn’t left anything behind, though it was far too late to turn back.

“Don’t be so scared,” Ranboo said to his horse, even though his heart was pounding, “It’s just a dragon.”

_ Just a dragon,  _ his horse would have scoffed (if horses could speak). 

Again overhead was the flap of wings, ricocheting across the empty desert. Ranboo wanted to whoop out loud. Today was going incredibly! In only an hour he would be coming upon the location of Technoblade’s encampment. He could hardly wait.

Ranboo was going so fast he almost didn’t notice when a horse passed him in the other direction.

He tugged sharply on his horse’s reins, and it slowed from a full gallop to a steady trot.  Ranboo looked back at the horse that passed him. It, too, was turning to face him. 

If not for the horse, the rider could have faded away into the desert entirely. Only the barest hints of red on their clothes made them stand out. As they drew closer, Ranboo saw that they were wearing a dragon wrangler’s mask. Sharp, tusks curving upwards from it, shadowed eyes. His heart skipped a beat.

Was this—

“Hello,” Ranboo called, and his voice cracked, “Are you— are you Technoblade?”

The dragon wrangler stared at him, face hidden behind the mask. 

Finally he spoke. 

“What are you doing out here?”

“Out— here?”

The wrangler waved a hand. “Right by a dragon nest.” 

Ranboo jerked back, “A dragon nest?”

“Are you telling me you camped out in the wild, away from traveling paths, and just happened to sleep right by one of the most active dragon hives in the world?”

Ranboo’s heart threatened to explode.

He should have felt fear that he skirted so close to the hands of death, but he only felt an exhilarating thrill. It pulsed through him, wild and rampant. He had been right next to dragons!  _ Dragons!  _ The most terrifying, powerful creatures in the world. The very things that Ranboo was so interested in. 

“No,” he managed, “I had no idea— was I really? How close was I?”

The dragon wrangler— surely he was Technoblade— stared at him. He seemed wholly unimpressed. For a moment Ranboo was terrified that he'd reject him, that he had come all this way for nothing, and he had a horrid vision of trekking back through the Wastelands again, alone in the massive expanse of the world.

Without preamble, Technoblade said, “I take it you’re the apprentice, then.”

Ranboo nodded.

“Name’s Ranboo?”

He nodded again.

“What’s with the goggles?”

Self-consciously, Ranboo raised a hand to the goggles he always wore. “They’re for seeing better.”

He knew they were clunky and a bit ugly. People in Rochester had told him so. But this far out in the Wastelands, no one used technology much. They must have looked pretty strange to Technoblade.

Technoblade appraised him for a moment.

“You know,” he said, after a moment of musing, “I thought you’d be different.”

Ranboo felt an absurd amount of shame at that. He wasn’t sure why.

“Sorry,” muttered Ranboo, and ducked his head. 

Techonblade did not deign to respond. He only dug his heels into the side of his horse, a great black thing, with a wild, windswept mane, and began a slow path back to where he had come from. Ranboo took the hint and followed him. 

“I’m Ranboo, by the way,” Ranboo burst, “Except— wait, you already know that. Um, I studied at West Bridge— you already know that too. I’m really excited—”

Technoblade raised a hand, and Ranboo obligingly shut up. 

“I’ll be honest,” Technoblade said, “I don’t care about your life story.”

Ranboo ducked his head. “Oh.”

“But you came all this way for what?” 

“To learn,” Ranboo rushed, “You know what they say about you, that you’re the best dragon wrangler in the world, and— well— you’re Technoblade!” 

Technoblade paused. Then he turned in his saddle to face him. 

“First things first,” he said, “Whenever I’m working, don’t bother me.”

“I—”

“Second,” Techno interrupted, neatly ignoring Ranboo, “Call me Techno. The full name is a mouthful.”

With that, he spurred his horse on in a storm of dust. 

Ranboo, jittering with excitement, followed him. 

* * *

To his disappointment, Ranboo found that the apprenticeship with the greatest dragon wrangler known to man was very… bland.

The first morning, Ranboo could barely sleep past the sun rising. As soon as he saw the peekings of orange on the horizon, he was out of bed and bristling with excitement, pacing around the tent that Technoblade lived in.

It had taken many hours for Techno to wake, though. When he did, Ranboo wondered what he would be taught on his first day. Would they go out and see a wild dragon herd for themselves? Would Techno teach him all the ways to properly harness and corral one? Would he learn dragon anatomy from a real professional, would he learn how to recognize breeds in the wild, would they scout out nests? 

Instead, Techno grimaced at the rising sun. His expression only deepened further when he saw Ranboo, bouncing forwards and backwards on the balls of his feet. 

“Good morning!” Ranboo burst. “What are we learning today?”

“Breakfast,” Techno said. “Go to the chicken coop.”

“The— what?”

“The chicken coop,” Techno gestured. “Go get the eggs. Check the hens for health. Come back in thirty minutes.”

“But—”

“Rule number three,” Techno said, “Don’t bother me in the morning.”

He pulled the canvas flap around his room closed again. 

Ranboo stood there, feeling somewhat shocked. Wasn’t this apprenticeship supposed to be the greatest adventure in his life? Techno was supposed to be the most interesting, most mysterious dragon wrangler in the world. Instead, he was assigning Ranboo to do  _ chores.  _ The most basic, boring chores.

Ranboo crossed his arms. He glared at the rising sun before schooling himself back into obedience.

More than anything, Ranboo wanted to be appreciated and valued. So he would do those morning chores, and in the  _ afternoon  _ they would go dragon-sighting. Surely they would. 

But to his increasing disappointment, they did nothing of the sort.

Instead of chasing or wrangling or sighting or scouting dragons, Techno scribbled down a list of chores and pinned it to one of the wooden support beams. 

“Those are your tasks,” he said, pointing to it. “Finish them each day.” 

The list read:  _ collect eggs. check/feed hens. milk/feed goats. haul water. repair fence. tend to garden. organize and sweep work station. cook dinner,  _ and about a dozen more things. 

Ranboo stared at it. He had half a mind to demand,  _ are you kidding me?  _ Three weeks of travel to be a  _ farm boy?  _

“Well?” Techno said, unsympathetic. “Get working.”

Ranboo rolled up his sleeves, adjusted his goggles, and got working. 

The hens were nice. The largest, a broad one with white feathers, snapped at his hand when he got too close to her. She probably had a name already, but as Ranboo didn’t know it, he nicknamed her Jeffrey. Now that he thought about it, it wasn't a particularly feminine name, but Jeffrey didn’t seem to care much. Therefore, Ranboo didn’t care much either. 

Hauling water wasn’t that bad also, although it did require a lot of armwork and Ranboo hated getting wet. It was the start of summer, so Ranboo began waking up extra early before the heat could strike. Though, he would learn, the well ran so deep that all the water it pulled up was icy cold to the touch. To experiment, Ranboo leaned over the bricked up edge and tossed a pebble in. He counted five complete seconds before he heard a faint splash at the bottom and vowed to not fall in.

Across from the well was the pen for the goats. They were nice, if a bit smelly and noisy. One of them chewed at Ranboo’s trousers the first day, ripping a hole clean through the pants leg. That meant another twenty minutes of work as he patched it up. His pants were quickly becoming more  _ patch  _ than fabric at all. 

After feeding and milking the goats, Ranboo went to the wild, sprawling garden that was directly outside the fenced-off area for everything else. The garden was a wonderful way to lose himself, but it was also tedious and exhausting. The first day, Ranboo hesitantly asked Techno where to find a trowel for harvesting, and Techno only laughed.

He glanced up to the sky, where the sun was nearing its peak. “You’re just starting to weed at noon?”

Ranboo felt abashed and he wasn’t sure why. “Yes?”

Techno stared. Then he laughed again, decidedly unfriendly.

“Have fun with  _ that _ ,” he said, and his tone told Ranboo that he wasn’t going to have very much fun at all.

Techno had been correct. Bending over and weeding for an hour while the sun reached its hottest point of the day was torture. Sweat beaded and rolled down Ranboo’s back, and the itching of a sunburn spread across his neck and arms and cheeks within a few minutes. When he finally finished all the rows, he splashed water from the well across his face, even though it made his skin itch. Then let it trickle down his arms until all the sweat was rinsed away. The garden waited, neatly pruned, but would be a mess the next day too. From then on, Ranboo vowed to make the garden one of his first chores. There was no way in hell he was suffering through this in the hottest hours of the day. 

Even though tending to the garden was miserable, cleaning the tent was worse.

It wasn’t particularly a  _ tent,  _ although there wasn’t a better word to describe it. While at university Ranboo had seen some traveling circuses pass through the major cities, and the tents they erected were domed and massive, large enough to fit an entire crowd inside. Techno’s tent was only a little smaller than that. It was made of three domes, interconnected by canvas flaps. Wooden support beams were stuck at intervals throughout the entire thing, and in the middle of the largest dome, the ceiling was so high that one could have lit a fire without the ceiling filling with smoke. 

Techno’s own side of the tent (the third dome) was meticulously neat, from the little that Ranboo saw of it. The same could not be said for the rest of the tent. The workplace station had dust and dirt clumped in every corner and the kitchen was positively atrocious. Spare bits and pieces of whatever Techno was metalworking could be found in the oddest places. The desk had letters spilling out of every crevice. 

The thing about cleaning the tent was that Ranboo actually enjoyed it. It was shady and cool inside. Whatever Techno was forging in the blacksmith was a nice background noise to his work. But always,  _ always,  _ he would be reprimanded by Techno for touching something he wasn’t supposed to, and Ranboo hated that.

The first day, it was an axe, dull and discolored. Ranboo had assumed that it was going to be melted down and used for parts, because it wouldn’t do any good cutting down wood. So he placed it in the pile of scrap metal and didn’t think anything more of it. 

A few hours later, as Ranboo was finally having his first break of the day, Techno approached him. 

“Where’s my axe?” he asked, without preamble.

“What?”

“My axe,” Techno said, wholly unimpressed. “Iron? Wood handle? Where did you put it?”

It was probably the wrong thing to say, but Ranboo stammered, “I thought it was— junk, or scrap— it’s with the other scrap metals.” 

Techno’s eyes narrowed. 

“Don’t mess with my things,” he snapped. “Leave things where you find them.”

He turned and stalked away.

Ranboo stayed stock still, nearly frozen with a mix of anxiety and shame, before he managed to jolt himself back into action.

The second mistake came a few days later. For someone who lived in such an isolated area, Technoblade sure received a lot of mail. It came by twice weekly and Ranboo was always awake at the crack of dawn to receive it from the horse-rider that stopped by. He would sort through it later by the table, once he was done with his morning chores. A lot of it was useless, but about half of it looked to be personal letters directed to Techno. 

Ranboo methodically tossed envelopes and scrolls aside, but he paused when his fingers came across a letter that was addressed  _ to techno.  _ He frowned. Turned it over to see if there was a sign as to where it came from and there was nothing besides a red wax seal, stamped with birds’ wings. 

It was precisely at that moment when Techno walked in, to see Ranboo presumably snooping through his mail. His face hardened.

“What are you doing?” 

“Nothing,” Ranboo scrambled, “I was just—”

It was an awfully mortifying position to be caught in. The envelope felt like hot coals in his hands. 

Techno ripped it out of his hands. “Don’t open my mail.”

“I wasn’t going to—”

_ “Don’t.” _

Ranboo shut up. 

The greatest dragon wrangler in the world eyed him up and down suspiciously, before turning on his heel and leaving.

Ranboo thunked his head onto the table. Would he ever stop messing up?

The thing was, he knew he was the apprentice, and that he was meant to be learning. The next two years of him living in this encampment with Techno would be incredibly great if only Ranboo could stop messing up at every turn.

So he kept his head down, followed Techno’s rules, and did the chores like he was asked. 

But after about two weeks, Ranboo was positively fed up.

He didn’t struggle his way through three years of university just to come and do chores like some common farm boy! He was there to wrangle  _ dragons,  _ not overzealous goats or finicky hens. He wasn’t a carpenter or a farmer or a gardener or anything else. He wanted to experience the genuine life of an outlander— the exhilarating, rushing feel of wrangling dragons, the mythical creatures who could move the entire world if they wished. 

He woke up one morning, determined that he would talk to Techno that day. He would demand that he at least  _ learn  _ about dragons, even if they couldn’t physically go and see it. Ranboo was tired of doing everything wrong in Techno’s eyes, and he was tired of doing all the household chores. He felt almost like he had traveled all this way for nothing. 

“Technoblade!” Ranboo exclaimed, when Techno entered the main tent after the sun had risen high. “Good morning.”

Techno looked unimpressed. He shouldered past Ranboo and didn’t respond.

“Hi,” Ranboo said again, and followed him into the kitchen, “Uh, I wanted to ask you something.”

No response.

Techno opened the cabinet and frowned. “Did you reorganize this?”

Ranboo had. It had taken three hours. He nodded.

Techno curled his lip. Dismissively turned away. Paid no attention to his apprentice.

“Um,” Ranboo said politely, “Can I ask you something?”

A shrug. Ranboo took that as permission to continue.

“When am I going to see dragons?”

At that, Techno paused. He let out a short, humorless laugh. 

“Sometime,” he said, which wasn’t an answer at all. 

“Uh,” Ranboo tried, “Do you know when, exactly?”

“Certainly not today.”

“I’ve been here two weeks,” Ranboo pointed out. 

“Two weeks?” Techno muttered. 

“And I saw dragons that first day,” Ranboo said, “Remember? Right before I arrived?”

A derisive scoff. “Sure do.” 

“So?” Ranboo asked eagerly. “Surely I can go and see some, or even learn about them…” 

Techno laughed. He didn’t even stop to consider. “No.”

Ranboo’s heart sank. “But—”

“Rule number four,” Techno interrupted. “Don’t ask me when we’ll go see dragons.”

He let the canvas flap fall behind him and left Ranboo in shocked silence. 

* * *

After that conversation, he and Techno fell into a grudging agreement. Ranboo woke up in the morning and did his chores without complaint. Techno left— sometimes for days at a time— and would return with his traveling bags filled with heavy gold coin. On those trips, as well, he would return with new things. Dragon skin, leathery and stronger than steel, for protective wear. Silvery frames for glasses. Ivory tusks from the traders up north. 

One day, he tossed a long roll of the dragon skin towards Ranboo. Ranboo stared at it, not understanding what was wanted of him.

“For you,” Techno said, in response to Ranboo’s quizzical look. “Make yourself a jacket. It’ll start getting cold in the fall.”

It was barely June, but Ranboo didn’t comment on that. He bent low over his newly-obtained fabric and set about measuring himself. 

The most miserable thing happened one morning, nearly four weeks after he had started his apprenticeship. Ranboo woke up, eyes bleary and practically useless without his goggles. He groped around the side of his mat for where he left them, and when he pulled the strap around the back of his head, found that he still couldn’t see much better.

Were they broken?

He clicked the miniature levers on the side that would change the lenses. There must have been something wrong with that, because he couldn’t flick between night-vision or day vision, between magnified or minimized, and then they got stuck, halfway between lenses. 

Ranboo grimaced. He hated when this happened. And it was bad luck for it to happen so soon into his apprenticeship. Would he need to replace the lenses completely? That would take eons, and Ranboo didn’t want to waste that time. 

Fruitlessly he tried clicking through again. Still nothing. 

Ranboo gritted his teeth. He would have to ask Techno if he could use the blacksmith area after all his tasks were done. 

The blacksmith was the one area of the encampment that was off-limits to Ranboo besides Techno’s room (not exactly, but he had never stepped foot in there before, and Techno had never invited him in). It was built with heavy stone walls and had a skylight to let out smoke. The kiln ran at almost all hours of the day. Ranboo found that out when he was walking, late at night, and felt the sudden blast of heat. 

Techno probably had all sorts of tools, and he wore glasses as well when he wasn’t wearing his wrangler’s mask. Maybe he had spare lenses that Ranboo could configure? It was worth a shot.

It was quite difficult to do his chores without his goggles, but Ranboo stubbornly set his mind to it anyway. Jeffrey the hen was particularly polite that morning, which Ranboo appreciated, and even the goats seemed to sense his frustration too, for not one of them attempted to eat his pants. 

Lunchtime rolled around, and as Ranboo wiped the sweat from his brow, he thought about all the ways to ask Techno. He didn’t want to invade the man’s privacy. Besides, even though Techno was technically Ranboo’s mentor, and Ranboo the apprentice, they had barely talked. The most words they had exchanged was for Techno to give him rule number five:  _ stop making so much noise,  _ and nothing else. He felt a little awkward about it.

Techno emerged from his room. He was limping slightly, but Ranboo chalked that up to probably falling asleep funny. 

Ranboo cleared his throat.

“Techno,” he said, and waited until the man looked over at him, “Can I ask you something?”

“You already did,” Techno muttered.

“I need to use the blacksmith.”

“The forge?” Techno asked, and his lip curled, “Why, exactly?”

He fiddled with his goggles. “I need to fix my goggles. The levers are broken.”

At that, Techno tilted his head.

“And you use those to see?”

“Well, I can see without them,” Ranboo said, “Only about five feet in front of me, and it hurts when I’m not wearing them for too long, and also I use them for a lot, so…”

He trailed off, realizing he was rambling, and it was probably annoying. 

“Fine,” Techno huffed. “I’ll be out of there before sunset. Feel free to use whatever you need.”

He firmly turned away from Ranboo and didn’t say anything more, even when Ranboo stammered out a quiet thank you. That was more than he had expected. A small glimmer of pride flickered to life in Ranboo’s chest— Techno had said yes! Ranboo hoped privately that this would be a good sign to come for the next two years. 

True to his word, Techno had left the door ajar by the time the sun began to dip. Unfortunately, this meant that the forge was dark. Ranboo went around and struck up lanterns, which hung from each wall, until the entire room was alight in yellow. It was hot, and terribly so, courtesy of the smoldering pit of charcoal that was still alight. 

Ranboo rolled his sleeves up and moved some nuts and bolts off one of the tables. He placed his goggles down and inspected them carefully. From his pocket he removed some of the specialized tools he had created himself and pried the lenses apart.

It reminded him of when he first created them, back when he was just a kid, living in a dingy apartment in one of Rochester’s many districts. Then, he had worn thick eyeglasses that were bug-eyed and large. Ranboo was a shy kid; not many people wanted to be friends with him, and he spent most of his time in the library anyway. In Rochester, technology was just beginning to develop. More and more books on engineering and machines made their way into the library, and Ranboo soaked them up like a sponge to water. 

When he was inevitably punched in the face after a school day (not only was Ranboo shy, but a lot of other kids found him annoying) his glasses snapped in half. Instead of crying, Ranboo picked himself up and decided he would fix them himself.

It was, admittedly, a stupid idea.

The blacksmith hadn’t let him in because he was short and skinny and had no idea how to use a forge. The local mechanic had offered him a few tools and the barebones to “figure it out on his own.” Ranboo had gritted his teeth, marched on home, and vowed that one day, he would be doing something  _ incredible  _ with his life. He wouldn’t be waiting to hit children outside of the library, and he wouldn’t be stuck inside a drafty old building all day just  _ reading.  _ Ranboo had decided he was going to do something amazing.

He had arrived home. Put his broken eyeglasses on the desk. Stared at them for a moment.

No better place to start than the beginning, right?

Inside Techno’s blacksmith, Ranboo bent over his frames again. He ran a smooth cloth over the lens, popped it back into the frame, and held it up to his eye.

Thank the Lord, he could see. It was such a relief that Ranboo sighed. 

He took the opportunity to glance around the forge and see everything come into sharp focus. Out of curiosity Ranboo took a slow walk around, reveling in clear vision again, and something caught his eyes. 

There on one of the tables was a letter.

Against his better judgement, Ranboo crossed the room. The paper was smudged with fingerprints of charcoal. He moved the weight holding it down and read: 

> _ To Techno, _
> 
> _ Hiya, mate. I hope you’re doing well and that your leg is healing. It’s been a long few months without you here, but I know that you’ve got other responsibilities to take care of. Sucks that you had to leave so quickly. Would it hurt to send a letter or two to your dad?  _
> 
> _ I’ve been alright, in case you were wondering. Came down with a case of pneumonia over the winter and was practically bed-ridden for a week or so, until I stopped hacking up my lungs at every turn. Hope this winter has been treating you well and that you’re not as sick as I was. (Don’t worry, I’m better. Wilbur worried his head off, but you’ll be better than that, I hope).  _
> 
> _ Not much is happening over here. If you ever wanted to visit, that would be nice. But I understand the hesitancy to come home. Just promise me that you won’t be alone for too long. Even the quietest people need to talk at some point.  _
> 
> _ P.S. Tommy is doing fine, in case you were wondering. I think he’s lonely. Are you sure you won’t let him return? _
> 
> _ Love,  _

And then the name was scratched out by Techno’s hand. 

Ranboo found his mind whirling with curiosity for only a moment. The crushing weight of guilt arrived next.

He stumbled backwards. Sickness rose in his stomach. Hadn’t Techno been upset with him when he only  _ looked  _ at his mail that first week? Here Ranboo was, smashing all over Techno’s boundaries, reading his private mail. A letter that he obviously cared about, because it was kept in the one place Ranboo never went.

Should he tell Techno he had read it? And suffer the consequences? Or was it better to keep quiet, pretend like all he had done was fix his goggles, and immediately leave?

The decision warred in Ranboo’s head.

He swallowed, moved the paperweight so it was back holding the letter down, and his head hung guiltily. He wouldn’t tell Techno. He didn’t want to bear the other man’s wrath. Besides, they were doing so well. Just that morning, Techno had spoken to him with not an ounce of irritation in his voice. 

Ranboo wanted to be appreciated.

So, he reasoned, as he extinguished the lanterns and closed the door to the forge behind him, he would wipe the memory of the letter from his mind. There was no point in worrying about it. Ranboo had a terrible memory, besides. 

He was sure he would forget about it soon. 

* * *

Ranboo woke up. 

He stretched, yawned, rolled the blankets back on his bed. The sun was barely stretching over the horizon, shadows long and dense. He swung the bucket into the well, pulled up an icy bucket of water, and headed to the garden. He was prepared to lose himself in the rhythmic movements of weeding and harvesting. To his delight, he saw that one of the rows of potatoes was set to be harvested. It was nice seeing the “fruits of his labor,” so to speak, even though Techno had planted them.

He washed his hands free of soil when the job was done and slumped back against the fence. The sun had risen high overhead, enough that the cool air of the night had burnt off. Ranboo squinted against the glow. 

He forced himself to stand up and wipe the sweat from his brow. There was still a whole list of chores to be done before it became too hot to work outside. 

But Ranboo never got the chance to complete those tasks. He went over to the hen house, intending to collect more eggs, but someone cleared their throat. Ranboo turned, startled, to see Techno standing by the entrance to the tent.

“Are you busy?” he asked.

Ranboo wasn’t sure how to answer that.

“Is there something I need to do?” he asked instead. 

Techno shifted his weight from leg to leg. His eyes flicked between Ranboo and the hens, clucking and tugging at his shoelaces. 

“You need to grab your things,” he said bluntly. “We’re going.”

Ranboo frowned. “What?”

“We’re going,” Techno repeated, and flicked his fingers. “Get moving.” 

Worry bubbled inside of Ranboo. “Wait— going where?”

Techno laughed. “Take a guess.”

“To the market?” 

Techno shook his head.

“No,” he said. “We’re going dragon wrangling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you enjoyed please leave kudos/comments/subscribe! i'll be updating this every sunday. <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> introducing a new character!! thanks for all the love on the first chapter as well <3
> 
> cw for animal death (extremely brief and non-graphic). enjoy!

“This is so exciting,” Ranboo burst, too excited to hold it in, “Are we going to the north or to the south? Do they have nests super close to us like that other one? Are we going to see them breathe fire? How hot is it when you get close? What—”

“Ranboo,” Techno said, “Shut up.” 

Ranboo shut up.

They were riding on horseback for the better part of two hours, at a near gallop, before slowing to a trot. Techno’s dragon-wrangling mask was firmly on, and it gave him an otherworldly, terrifying look. Before they left, Techno had sat Ranboo down and firmly explained the enchantments that he used to protect against dragonfire and their claws. There were runes to be cast and wards to be worn. Ranboo raised a thumb to the _beginner’s charm_ that rested around his neck. Techno had pressed it into his hand with the adamant promise that he should wear it, just in case anything went wrong. 

Now, they were far, far away from the tent. The sun was barely halfway to its peak, and Techno still hadn’t told him what they were planning on doing. Ranboo could barely hold his excitement in. 

He opened his mouth to talk again and without even glancing at him, Techno held up a finger. Ranboo clamped his mouth shut. He was sure that the entire world could sense how excited he was.

“We’re almost there,” Techno said, and peered up at the sun. “A few more minutes.”

Ranboo looked to the sky, squinted up. There was nothing for a long moment, the sky partway obscured with clouds, and then he saw it. A speck, flying overhead, so high up it was nearly invisible. It was just large enough that when Ranboo set the right eye of his goggles to magnify, he could see the outline of the dragon clear as day. 

Techno whistled, loud and sharp. The spiraling shapes grew larger and larger, until Ranboo realized they were _landing._ They were answering Techno’s call.

“Stand back,” Techno muttered, almost to himself. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I won’t get hurt,” Ranboo said eagerly, “I know what to do, I read all the theory books—”

Techno turned to face him. “All of your theory books will do nothing out here. This isn’t your fancy university classes, alright? Those are _dragons._ Real life dragons. And they’ll kill you with one swipe if you’re not careful.”

That shut Ranboo right up. He glanced up at the sky. From this perspective, the sun mostly blinded him. The shapes grew larger and larger, and Ranboo realized there were _so many more._ It was only the largest that was landing. 

He knew from his textbooks at university that dragons could fly for weeks at a time, almost like albatrosses, hardly needing to land. It was so surreal to see them landing to a human’s call. 

His horse began to grow nervous, almost whining. It skittered back and forth and Ranboo cast an uneasy glance to Techno, who was wholly unfocused on him. His eyes stayed firmly stuck to the sky. 

His horse bucked, and Ranboo slid off. The instant both his feet were on the ground, his horse bolted away. Ranboo paid it no mind. He, too, was looking towards the sky. 

And then they landed.

Two clawed feet hit the earth, shaking the land beneath them. A hot breath of air blasted over Ranboo, and his heart picked up pace, hammering against his ribcage. At once, all the protections felt meaningless. The dragon hide was flimsier than a sheet of paper. The protection ward was child’s play. The fire runes would do nothing against the blast from an adult dragon.

“Calm down,” Techno muttered, and glanced over to Ranboo. “Calm down!” 

“I’m trying,” wheezed Ranboo.

“For god’s sake,” Techno muttered, and crossed over to him. “Take a breath. He won’t hurt you.”

Ranboo sucked in a shuddering breath, then another. Techno’s hand was placed firmly between his shoulder blades, and Ranboo tried desperately not to shake.

“Dragons are susceptible to fear,” Techno muttered, “Pull yourself together.”

His heart stumbled and tripped on its way towards calm, but Ranboo arrived eventually. He stared, wide-eyed and mystified, at the dragon in front of him. It was tanned and leathered, and its scales, diamond shaped, glimmered an iridescent black. Four fangs, yellowed with age, curved from its mouth. It carried with it such an aura that Ranboo thought he might faint. 

It wasn’t the only dragon. More and more, spiraling down from above the clouds, landed as well. Gathered in a loose semicircle around Techno, who didn’t look the slightest bit perturbed by how close the ancient creatures were to him. 

In fact, he seemed the happiest Ranboo had ever seen him. Gone was the stubborn and pessimistic monotony that Ranboo had grown accustomed to. Instead, Techno went around, the barest smile on his face, and pressed a palm to the nose of each dragon. 

“See, Tommy?” Techno asked. “Dragons aren’t so bad.”

Ranboo frowned. “Tommy?”

A pause.

Techno cleared his throat. 

“Ranboo,” he said. “My mistake.”

There was an awkward pause. It was broken by the huff of one of the larger dragons, a male, with barbs that flared around his neck. His scales were larger than the entirety of Ranboo’s palm, and they shimmered with opalescent colors. 

“This one has been in the herd for a long time,” Techno said, and crooked a finger towards Ranboo. “He’s about… two hundred? Two hundred twenty? Years old.”

Ranboo’s mouth fell wide open.

“ _Two hundred twenty years?”_

“Of course,” Techno said, unimpressed. “Why, did you think they only lived to be twenty like cats?”

“No, I knew they lived long,” he rambled, “That’s just… it’s so cool. That he’s been alive for eleven times longer than me. Amazing.”

“You can tell,” Techno said, and he beckoned again for Ranboo to step forwards. He did so uncomfortably, sure that the dragon would take one look at him and decide to stamp him out of existence. “He’s been in fights before. The scars on his muzzle.” 

Ranboo approached the dragon and found himself face to face with pinkish-blue scars, mottled against the other scales. They looked very deep. It was impressive that this dragon survived. 

“This particular herd are fliers,” Techno said, and he brought Ranboo around to one of the younger ones (younger meaning only a century old or so, by human years). “I don’t know how in-depth West Bridge was with teaching, but it’s worth knowing. All of them are great fliers.”

“Do you ever fly with them?” 

“Me? No.”

“Would they let someone fly with them?”

“I doubt it,” Techno said after a moment. “They’re already antsy enough on the ground.” 

He whistled again, sharp and piercing, and the dragons that were summoned by his call spread their wings. Ranboo had only a moment to brace himself before the largest of them, silvery and black, took off with only a few flaps of his wings. 

It broke through the clouds and vanished into the sky. Ranboo fought the urge to gasp. He had never seen anything like it before.

He managed to find his voice. “How do they do what you say?” 

“I don’t control them,” Techno said amusedly. “I think they respect me, is all.” 

“Respect?”

A pause. 

“What a lot of city folk don’t understand is that dragons have their own forms of civilization,” Techno explained. “They’re not easily trained like dogs or horses are. They can’t be domesticated. What matters to them isn’t strength or power. It’s respect and character. They’re some of the smartest creatures in the world, aren’t they?”

Ranboo remembered learning something along the lines of that at university, but they had spoken about it differently. He remembered dragons being referred to as _weapons._ Now, looking above, Ranboo thought about that differently. He could hear them calling to each other, wild, screeching shouts into the sky. A burst of flame, lighting the clouds up orange. The barest smile on Techno’s face.

“How long have you known them?” Ranboo asked. 

“This pack?” Techno tilted his head, considering. “Nearly five years. It took two years before they ‘accepted’ me, in a sense.”

“Guess you’re a better person now than you were,” Ranboo joked.

“No,” Techno corrected. “I was lonely.”

Ranboo frowned. 

“Dragons are…” Techno lapsed into silence as he presumably looked for the right words. “In places where people don’t fit in with other people, they turn to things that will understand them.” 

Ranboo thought about the letter he had read in the blacksmith the other day. The author had written _promise me that you won’t be alone for too long. Even the quietest people need to talk at some point._

“Sounds like it’s nice being alone,” Ranboo ventured.

Techno huffed. “Depends who you ask.”

“I think you’ve got life pretty settled out here.”

“You’re one of the only people in the world who would say that.”

Ranboo tilted his head. “Really?”

Techno said nothing for a long, long moment. 

Finally, he said, “You reap what you sow.”

Before Ranboo had any time to process what that meant, Techno directed his horse away. 

The Eastern Wastelands were pockmarked with streams, eroding away the landscape, and that was where Techno decided they would camp for the night. He slid off his horse with a jolt and a grimace. The dragon wrangler's mask was pulled from his forehead and left to fall to the side. 

“We’re resting here,” he said, and gestured to the sparse treeline. “It’ll be safer here than out in the open.”

Ranboo nodded and slid off his horse as well. He moved to untangle everything he needed from the packs; his horse was carrying the water and bed mats, which he promptly unrolled. 

Techno took a seat. He fumbled at the side of his pants leg with something for a moment, face screwed up in pain, and then there was a popping sound, and his leg came off, just above the knee. 

Ranboo blinked.

“What?” Techno said sharply. “Going to stare?”

“I— no,” Ranboo said hastily, though he did feel a bit startled. “No. Um. Nothing. Never mind.”

He hadn’t known Techno used a prosthetic. Though to be fair, he was a dragon wrangler. He probably had scars upon scars that Ranboo knew nothing about. 

“Good,” Techno muttered. “Keep it to yourself.”

Ranboo cleared his throat forcefully and then turned his attention back to unpacking. Techno laid back and closed his eyes. He didn’t look like he wanted to be bothered at all, so Ranboo made himself useful. He ventured deeper into the forest looking for dry wood.

When he returned, Techno had struck up a small fire. Ranboo returned with his arms full of sticks for kindling, and slowly, he and Techno cultivated the fire until it was tall enough to send sparks flying. Night was already falling, and it was a new moon. This fire would be the only light around for ages. 

“Out of curiosity,” Techno said, “Are those goggles night-vision?”

Ranboo nodded. “The green eye.”

Techno hummed. He didn’t say anything for a while, and then finally: “That’s impressive work.”

Ranboo felt a spark burn to life inside of him. “Really?”

“Not many people are a mechanic like you,” Techno said. There was a note of amusement to his voice. “If you want to help out in the forge more, feel free.” 

Ranboo nodded. 

A cricket chirped. The stars made a triumphant resurgence as the sun finally vanished below the horizons. Neither of them spoke for a while. Until the fire began to dwindle, and Ranboo hesitated, “I _am_ a pretty good mechanic.”

“Hm.”

“If it’s painful— the prosthetic, at least— you looked like you were hurting, and I could probably come up with something more comfortable. If you wanted.” 

Techno stared at him.

Ranboo swallowed, sure that he had overstepped boundaries in some way.

“I’m fine,” Techno said eventually, dismissing him. “Someone made this for me. I’ve kept it on for too long, that’s the only reason it hurts.”

“Oh.”

Silence consumed them again. Ranboo prodded at the fire with a stick. 

“It’s healed,” Techno added. Ranboo glanced in his direction. “It’s been a long time.”

Ranboo broke his arm once, when he was ten years old. He broke it falling off a fallen log, of all things. The doctor who had come to his home pronounced it fractured, and made him wear a splint for ten weeks. He can hardly imagine what it must be like, without doctors or medics, out there in the wild. He supposed that he was glad Techno was better. 

Ranboo risked asking, “How long have you been living out here, anyway?” 

“Years,” Techno said. “Since I was twenty.”

Ranboo considered that. Techno would have been in the second year of his apprenticeship when he considered himself “living” out here. 

“The nice thing about living here is that no one bothers you,” Techno says, “Not unless you ask them to.” 

“Do people bother you?”

A thin smile. “You’re here.”

Ranboo wrinkled his nose. He didn’t like the implications of that.

Techno must have understood, because he sighed. “Lighten up. You keep walking around me like I’m going to yell at you at any point. I’m too tired for that.” 

“I’m not…”

“I know that I’m the ‘great Technoblade’ and all that, but it’s exhausting,” Techno continued, “So lighten up.” 

Ranboo swallowed. He did his best to school down the childish worry he still felt whenever he interacted with Techno. Sometimes it was still difficult, though, to come to terms with the opportunity he had. He still couldn’t believe that he was here, in the Eastern Wastelands, instead of in his classrooms back in the cities. 

The fire flickered, dimmed, and was reduced to only a few embers. Ranboo slipped inside his sleeping bag and cast his gaze up to the stars. 

He whispered, “Techno?” 

Techno sighed heavily. “What?”

“Are the dragons flying now?” Ranboo asked, and looked through the branches of the trees to the navy sky above. “Right above us?”

A moment of silence. 

“Yes, Ranboo,” Techno said. “They are.” 

For a moment, it sounded like Techno wanted to say something other than Ranboo’s name. 

But before he could think much more, sleep claimed him.

* * *

Ranboo woke up with his face smushed into the mat. 

He peeled himself up and winced. He felt much more tired today than he usually did. Part of that was probably because he was traveling with someone new. Ranboo never liked traveling with people he didn’t know super well. 

Techno was already awake, judging by the imprint left on his mat. Ranboo glanced around and found his figure a good fifty steps away, ducked down by the stream. He ran hands through his hair, tied it back, splashed water on his face. 

“Good morning,” Ranboo called, voice rusty from sleep.

“Good morning,” Techno returned. 

Ranboo pushed himself up blearily. Judging by the sun’s height, it had to be barely six in the morning. It was hard to sleep once the world was light. 

“We’re visiting the herd again today and then leaving,” Techno said, and he returned back to the smoldering remains of their campfire. “Get up.”

Although Ranboo knew it wasn’t very polite, he found himself staring at where the junction of leg and prosthetic would be, if it wasn’t hidden beneath fabric. Techno walked so easily that Ranboo wouldn’t have guessed at all that he was disabled. He couldn’t even tell. 

“I said,” Techno repeated, “Stop staring.”

Ranboo went bright red.

“Sorry,” he said, and coughed, “You said we’re leaving today?”

Techno nodded. “I don’t feel comfortable leaving the camp unguarded for too long. Sand bandits are voracious.”

Sand bandits. Ranboo had heard of them, before he made the final trek across the Wastelands to Techno’s home. They raided in the middle of the night and tended to leave people for dead. Most often bandits wouldn’t attack if you were familiar or a threat, but it was always something to be aware of. 

It made sense that Techno didn’t want to be away for too long, Ranboo reasoned. Although it was a little disappointing that they were returning so soon. He had hoped to spend more than a day with dragons. 

“When are we leaving?”

“As soon as you’re ready,” Techno said, and snapped his fingers, “So hurry up.”

Ranboo hurried up. He made a brief pit-stop by the stream to wash his face and hands, and returned to find Techno tightening the straps of the saddle and the packs. With a grimace, he swung himself onto his horse. Ranboo did the same.

With only a word, the two of them were off to the dragon nest.

In the morning, the dragons were flying lower, enough so that Ranboo didn’t need to switch to his magnifying lenses to see them before they began spiraling down. They seemed eager, excited to see Techno again, and one of the younger ones, barely up to Ranboo’s waist, came and butted him in the side. Ranboo let out a shocked laugh. 

“She likes you,” Techno said. “She’s young, too, only fifteen.”

“So a baby,” Ranboo surmised.

“An overexcited toddler,” Techno corrected. “That’s maybe… two years? In human years? A year and a half?”

“Amazing,” Ranboo breathed, and his hand came up to press to her nose, the same as Techno had done to the dragons earlier. The dragon leaned into it. It really seemed like she liked him. 

“What are we doing with the dragons today?”

“Checking the herd for wellness,” Techno said, “This particular herd is more independent, they don’t like humans interfering much. But I’d prefer to keep them healthy, if I can.” 

Ranboo followed as Techno made the rounds again, and from his pack he pulled various charms and runes, each imbued with protective charms. Ranboo never liked using magic much; it was a skill he never learned, and it always made his head a bit fuzzy. Out here people used it more, though. Techno seemed particularly adept at it. 

Techno came to the last dragon, a wizened, old thing, and his face fell.

“Oh,” he said, “That isn’t good.” 

Ranboo frowned. “What’s not good?” 

“It doesn't concern you,” Techno said.

“I think it does,” Ranboo pointed out, “Shouldn’t I—” 

“Step back.”

“What?”

“Step back,” Techno said. 

Ranboo obediently took a step back. 

He looked at the dragon again. It was female, the colors and teeth telling him so. She was old even by dragon standards. She looked like she was on her last legs, but there must have been something more that Techno saw about her. Even though half his face was covered by the mask, Ranboo could tell that something was wrong. 

Techno pressed a hand to her neck, another to her forehead, at the divot between eyes. He muttered a few quick words.

The dragon wheezed, and she opened her mouth, and reflexively Ranboo dodged out of the way. The fire dripped, like it was following trails of oil, and pooled in coagulations of heat. For some reason it seemed wrong. Like he was watching something that wasn’t meant to happen.

“Oh,” Techno murmured, “How long has this been happening?”

The dragon said nothing, only blinked with eerie, double eyelids. It dipped its head.

Techno didn’t seem one bit bothered by the fire, smoking, licking up his legs. He only turned to Ranboo and said calmly, “Please get my knife from my bag.” 

Ranboo felt frozen in place, but he forced himself to move to Techno’s bag, lying there. He sifted through the contents until he came across the knife, made of bone and metal. 

“Give that here,” Techno said, and gestured.

“Wait,” Ranboo said, alarmed, “Are you—”

“Give that here!” Techno repeated, and startled, Ranboo passed the knife over. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and didn’t look. 

But he could feel the moment that the last breath of life left the dragon. He could feel the moment her body hit the earth.

He cracked one eye open. Then another.

Techno sat, crouched in front of her massive head. He had one hand pressed to her nose and the other stabilizing against the floor. His eyes were glazed over. 

“You,” Ranboo said, but his voice failed. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Is she dead?”

Techno nodded mutely. 

“And you killed her.” 

“Not exactly pleased about it,” Techno muttered. “But yes. I did.” 

His voice was nearly desperate. “But _why_?”

Techno blinked several times. Finally, he stood up, stepped away from the dragon. When he turned to look at Ranboo, his eyes were perfectly clear. Whatever emotion they had shown was hidden. 

“She was dying,” he said, “And you need to make a profit somehow, right?” 

“A profit,” Ranboo repeated, stunned. 

“Wandering traders pay well for dragon scales,” Techno said, though it sounded as if he were talking more to himself than anyone else, trying to convince himself of something, “Dragon skin is strong, I can make tools from the bones…”

Carefully, Ranboo pressed a hand to the dragon as well. The opalescent glimmer of its scales had faded, now that it no longer breathed. He felt sick. What had happened to the empathetic, gentle Techno from last night? Where had that person gone? 

“—anboo. _Ranboo._ Are you listening to me?”

Ranboo was dragged back into the present. 

“I am,” he said unsteadily. 

“Come on,” Techno said, and his tone betrayed no emotion. “You can learn an anatomy lesson in real life.”

_You need to make a profit somehow, right?_

Ranboo followed Techno and didn’t trust himself to speak.

* * *

The next day, the _profit_ arrived.

Ranboo woke up with the sun, back at the camp. Neither he nor Techno had spoken to each other as soon as they began the ride back. They went their separate ways as soon as they entered the tent. 

Now, almost without thinking, Ranboo began his regular chores that Techno assigned him to. His mind was fuzzy. He couldn’t stop thinking about that wizened dragon from yesterday. 

He ducked inside the chicken coop to fetch some of the eggs. The hens clucked at him and tugged at the hem of his pants. Ranboo bent down further to squeeze inside and began to slowly fill the basket. 

“Hello there,” someone said in surprise. “Are you new?” 

Ranboo turned around, startled, and instantly hit his head on the low ceiling.

“Shit,” he cursed, “Ow!”

The person sounded concerned. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Ranboo muttered, and rubbed at his head. He backed awkwardly out of the chicken coop and came face to face with the person.

“Didn’t mean to startle you.” The man shrugged. “I’m Wilbur, by the way. Tech’s brother.”

Ranboo’s eyes widened. “Techno has a brother?” 

Wilbur, Techno’s apparently brother, chuckled. “I gather he hasn’t told you about me?”

“No,” Ranboo said defensively, “For all I know, Techno popped out of the earth one day and doesn’t even have a mom or dad.”

“He has parents, alright,” Wilbur muttered, “Though I get the feeling he doesn’t tell anyone anything anymore. What’s his favorite color?”

Ranboo blinked. Wilbur’s thoughts seemed to jump from place to place without him being able to catch where they came from. “I don’t know?”

“Pink,” Wilbur answered. “I’ll have a talk with him about that.”

Ranboo tilted his head, confused. “Do you need something from me?” 

Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “Is Techno here?”

“Techno?” Ranboo looked towards the entrance of the tent, which was closed. “He might be asleep.”

Wilbur took no note of that, even though _rule number three: don’t bother me in the morning_ rang through Ranboo’s head. He threw the canvas open, peeked inside, and shouted, “Technoblade, wake up!”

Ranboo cringed at the noise. He knew that Techno hated when he was loud in the morning. But to his surprise, there wasn’t a curse or a shout. Techno stumbled out into the open air, still in his rumpled sleep clothes, one leg rucked up, and froze.

“Wilbur?” Techno asked, and Wilbur barely stilled before throwing his arms around him. Techno wobbled, hesitated, before slowly, slowly hugging him back.

“Long time no see,” Wilbur said, grinning.

“You’re here early,” Techno grumbled, “I thought you’d be here in the afternoon.”

“I can tell. You look like you slept well.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Getting lots of sleep in, then?”

“Hours of it,” Techno said, “Would have gotten more if you showed up hours later.” 

“I took a day off,” Wilbur shrugged, “So tell me, what have you been up to in your free time?”

“The usual,” Techno muttered, and pushed Wilbur’s arm off his shoulders, “Resting. Reading. Mentoring.”

“You took up the mentorship?”

Techno’s gaze slid past his brother to Ranboo, standing awkwardly at the entrance, and jerked his chin towards him. 

“That’s the one I told you about,” Techno said. “The apprentice.” 

At that, Ranboo wanted to shrink away. Wilbur turned to look at him. His eyes were scrutinizing.

“Ranboo?” Wilbur questioned, and Ranboo cringed at how he pronounced it. _Run-bow._

“The very one,” Techno grunted, and turned his attention back to his brother. “So? You’ve brought me things?”

A flash of a smile. “It might be easier to discuss inside.”

Techno turned and ducked back inside the tent. Wilbur followed. Ranboo crept a little closer; he didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he wanted to know more. He rested against the widest support beam and watched.

Techno slumped down onto one of the two armchairs they owned, and Wilbur sat across from him.

“Show me,” Techno demanded, and Wilbur upturned his pack onto the table. Items sprawled out of it. Ranboo stared, a little mystified, and watched as the two of them picked through the items. 

Now that he knew they were siblings, he could see the similarities, even though he wouldn’t be able to tell from just looking at them. Their noses were shaped the same way, as were the almond shapes of their eyes. Both of them had the same hands, a freckle on both their wrists. 

That was where the similarities ended. Wilbur was tall and lanky and his hair was dark. Techno was two inches shorter, broader, built for strength and weaponry. His hair had lightened to a near honey-blond after spending so much time outside in the sun. Techno’s hands were calloused and his knuckles scarred; Wilbur looked like a typical merchant who spent all his time indoors, pale-skinned and vibrant. 

The two brothers sorted through the materials on the table. Techno examined a few charms, woven with the humming fabric of magic, and set them to the side. He pocketed a glittering ruby, a lump of what looked to be pure gold. There were some more practical things that he took as well; new fabric, needles and thread, glass jars, locks and keys. Wilbur’s pack seemed to be endless. Vaguely, Ranboo wondered if it was enchanted to be bottomless.

Finally, they came to an arrangement. Techno sized up the things he had taken and the things he hadn’t, and passed a pouch of clinking coins over to Wilbur. Wilbur received it with a grin. 

Their voices lowered from the haggling and bartering to a tone that was exchanged between family. 

“Are you staying long?”

“A few days,” Wilbur answered, “I’m laying low.”

“Laying low?” Techno sounded amused. “What did you do this time?”

A laugh. “Nothing that matters over here. A bar fight and some gambling.”

“I thought you told me you were going to stop wasting money.”

“I always win.”

“What happens to _house always wins_?”

“Do you think I’m visiting some high-end casinos?” Wilbur laughed. “Tech, I’m bartering all my money’s worth with some guys in the back of a pub. Nothing important.”

Techno hummed disapprovingly. “Will you stop?”

“No,” Wilbur said, “Give it up already.”

“I just think—”

“I think _you_ need to give it a break,” Wilbur cut him off. “Besides, you’re risking your own life in different ways, you’re not so different.”

“Dragons are understandable.”

“And people aren’t?”

“Enough,” Techno interrupted, and waved a hand. Belatedly, Ranboo realized that he just eavesdropped on a conversation not meant for his ears. Still, he was in too deep to sneak away now. It would have been terribly weird. And Ranboo wasn’t sure that he was meant for that much awkwardness. 

Techno and Wilbur kept talking, as Ranboo slid into a sitting position. There was the sound of bottles clinking. 

“Well?” Techno asked, after a too-long moment of silence. “How is Phil, then?”

“Decent.”

“Nothing else to say?”

“You’d know if you answered any of his letters.”

“Not exactly my fault. A lot of mail goes missing.”

Well, that wasn’t quite true, Ranboo thought. He organized the work station. He saw them go stuffed into the bottom drawer, unopened and untouched. He wondered why Techno was lying. 

“You’re sure it’s not your little apprentice stealing letters?”

Techno scoffed. “Ranboo? That kid couldn’t hurt a fly. I think he would cry if I was any harsher with him. No way he’s stealing my mail.” 

Ranboo felt hurt at Wilbur’s accusation. But Techno’s defense made him swallow that hurt, replacing it with a strange burning feeling in his chest.

“Phil wants you to mail him more,” Wilbur said. “So even if you don’t get a letter, just write one?”

Techno made a low noise of assent and said nothing. Someone set their bottle down on the table. 

Wilbur asked, “How _is_ the apprenticeship going, by the way?”

Techno’s voice was grudging. “Terrible.”

“Really?”

“Awful,” Techno corrected. “I think I shouldn’t have agreed when he mailed me.”

Wilbur laughed. “Really?”

“I think I’m not cut out to be a mentor,” Techno grumbled, “Although it is nice to have someone do the housework without complaining.”

“You’re making him do _chores_?”

“Haven’t milked the goats in two months,” Techno said, a note of smugness to his voice. 

“You’re evil.”

“Smart,” Techno corrected. “Gives me more time to do whatever I want.” 

“Hm.”

“It’s nice. I can visit the market without worrying about this place getting robbed or falling into disrepair.”

“You went traveling without me?” 

“Haven’t been able to in a while,” Techno said, voice low, “When it’s just me, I have to stay here.” 

“Your fault for setting up camp in the middle of nowhere.”

“Better than swindling drunkards out of their money in the back of bars,” Techno accused, “Get off your high horse.” 

Wilbur laughed. “No judgement here. Just commenting.”

Both of them took a drink. Ranboo chewed the inside of his mouth and wished that he was anywhere but there. And of course, because his luck was terrible, the conversation shifted back to him. 

“So you trust the apprentice to keep the place safe?”

“He’s a city boy,” answered Techno, “But he can handle it.” 

“Where did he study?”

“West Bridge.”

A burst of shocked laughter. “Shit. You’re kidding.”

“Told me he had the top marks in his class,” Techno said, and Ranboo burned with shame. He was rather proud of those grades. But Techno’s tone was derisive, mocking. 

“He does look like a city kid,” Wilbur said, after a moment. “Those goggles, too. Think he made them himself?” 

“He did.”

Wilbur said nothing else. Embarrassment poured over Ranboo like boiling tar.

“He’s not half bad,” Techno said eventually. 

“Huh.”

“Could be a lot worse.”

Wilbur laughed. “Technoblade, are you going soft on me?” 

“I don’t know,” Techno muttered, sounding half secluded away in memories, “He just… he reminds me of someone.”

A beat.

Wilbur said, hushed, “So I gather you haven’t talked to Tommy, then.” 

His voice was too honest and too bare. Ranboo realized, abruptly, that he shouldn’t have listened to this conversation. 

Awkwardness be damned, he jumped to his feet and pushed his way out of the tent into the open night air. He was aware that their conversation stilled when he left, as they realized he was listening. He couldn’t bring himself to care. The burning feeling swarmed inside his chest, lighting him up from the inside out. 

The sun had disappeared as the night crawled over the earth. The land stretched flat in every direction, and Ranboo knew he would be able to find his way back to the tent from any path, and so he picked a direction and started walking. 

His feet thudded against the ground. A hand came up out of habit, to switch his lenses to night-vision, but instead Ranboo ripped them off his face. Stupid fucking goggles. He hated being made fun of for wearing them. He hated that he had to wear them in the first place. If only he could see more than a foot in front of him at any given moment. 

He was not a _city kid._ He was perfectly capable of handling life in the outskirts on his own. 

The lights of the canvas tent faded into the background. Ranboo glared at the blurry ground. He could barely see where he was going. 

He didn’t like Wilbur, Ranboo decided. He certainly didn’t like the fact that Wilbur was shit-talking him. He didn’t like that Techno was lying about his letters going missing when Ranboo had watched each one arrive. He didn’t like that he was being compared to whoever _Tommy_ was. Who was Tommy, anyway? Another stupid apprentice who managed to capture Techno’s attention as well? 

Ranboo gripped his goggles tight in one hand. He had the absurd urge to throw them against the ground and smash his heel into them. 

And then there was a scuffling sound.

Ranboo stopped.

“Hello?” he called.

There was no response from the open air. Ranboo’s steps were more hesitant; he couldn’t fight off an entire pack of bandits on his own. He fumbled to put his goggles back on and set them to night-vision. This far away from the encampment, he had found himself in the middle of a dry, scraggly field. Only desert bushes and the rare cactus grew from the ground. There was nowhere someone could be hiding.

Another scuffle. A rustle. It sounded like it was coming from underneath a bush.

Ranboo crouched. He tilted his head, brows furrowed in confusion. 

And then something tumbled out of the bush.

Everything in Ranboo’s body jolted to a shuddering halt.

In front of him was a dragon.

Not just any dragon. It was small. It must have been a baby. Its pupils were thin and slitted, fearful, and it was too young to even breathe fire yet, puffs of sparks and smoke coming from its nostrils.

Everything Techno had told him ran through Ranboo’s mind. Ways to keep yourself safe, to never get too close to an unmanageable dragon, protective equipment, how to shield against dragonfire. 

Ranboo did none of those things.

Instead, he sat back on his heels. The dragon crouched away from him and hissed. 

“Hi,” Ranboo muttered, holding out a hand, feeling absurdly like he was talking to a cat. “I’m not going to hurt you, come on.”

The dragon crouched back further. It wheezed, like it was trying to blow fire. It made Ranboo’s heart ache horribly. 

“Come on, now,” he said softly, “Come on. I have food, alright? I have some smoked jerky in my bag. You’ll like it.”

With slow, telegraphed motions, Ranboo opened his pack. He fumbled for his traveling bag of food and tossed a strip of dried jerky towards the dragon.

The dragon froze. Its eyes locked onto the food, and it crept cautiously towards it, until with a burst of movement so fast Ranboo’s eyes couldn’t follow, it lunged out and grabbed it. 

“Wow,” Ranboo muttered, a laugh escaping him. “You must have been hungry. Do you want more?”

The dragon finished wolfing down the jerky and edged forward again. This time it emerged from the darkness into some of the moonlight, and Ranboo could see clearly that it must have just hatched, only recently. It was minuscule, one of the smallest dragon cubs that Ranboo had ever seen. He wiggled a piece of jerky in his hand, stretching out far, and the dragon crept ever closer.

With slower movements this time, the dragon delicately took the piece of meat from his hand. It backed away again, retreating into the darkness, and Ranboo let it. 

They went through the process three more times, each time with the dragon getting ever closer to Ranboo before falling away again. Finally, it didn’t retreat, and curled up there, right in a spot of moonlight. 

Ranboo sat back on his heels, exhausted, and thought about what to do.

He… he just tamed a dragon. 

A baby dragon. One that likely imprinted on him, as a feeder. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“You’re really small,” Ranboo whispered, almost to himself. “You’re just a baby, aren’t you?”

The dragon tilted its head towards him, like it could understand what he was saying. He stretched out his hand, and the dragon butted him with his head. Carefully, Ranboo scratched around its ears and chin. The scales were downy soft, not yet grown in, and they were pale yellow in the moon, almost silver. 

“You’re just a baby,” Ranboo repeated, “You’re just a baby, you’re just… a baby. You’re a _baby._ Oh fuck, you’re a baby. Where’s your mom?”

He stood up suddenly and pushed himself away. His heart hammered at his ribcage forcefully. Every law of nature told him this. Every law of nature said _when you find a baby animal, its mother will be close._

Ranboo was stupidly close to his and Techno’s encampment. Close enough that this baby dragon could probably have led its mother back to where they sleep at night. What had Ranboo done?

The dragon didn’t seem to understand any of Ranboo’s fear. It tilted its head. Nudged a little closer, in the direction of Ranboo’s pack, where the food was.

“Where’s your mom?” Ranboo repeated urgently, even though the dragon couldn’t possibly understand him. “Am I about to get fireballed?”

The dragon said nothing. Made a _chirrup_ noise. 

“Do you have a mom?” Ranboo asked.

The dragon stood up and twined around Ranboo’s legs. It was like a scaly cat. It seemed awfully attached to him.

“You _don’t_ have a mom,” Ranboo recognized slowly. 

He imagined if the dragon had words, it would respond to him by saying _duh._

And it hit him— this dragon didn’t have a mother because Technoblade killed her.

Oh. _Oh._

 _You reap what you sow,_ Techno had told him, and it was terribly true all of a sudden. 

“Oh,” Ranboo said, “Oh, no,” and the dragon took that moment to claw up his leg, nearly ripping his pants to shreds. 

Ranboo spluttered as a barbed tail came _too_ close to his eyes, before the dragon rested around his neck like a scaly boa. He didn’t dare move in case he got bitten or clawed. Panic raced through his system, slippery and live. 

What did he do now?

“What do I do?” Ranboo whispered, and the dragon didn’t answer.

He couldn’t just leave it here. He also couldn’t take it back to the tent. But it was barely a baby— had to have been born in the last week, for how small it was— and it wouldn't have survived on its own.

That answered his question, then. Call it a bleeding heart, but Ranboo wouldn’t kill anything. Besides, he didn’t think he could entangle the dragon from him even if he had tried. As he turned around to walk back, the dragon shifted from his neck to resting in his arms, against his chest. It was so _warm._ It radiated heat, and even though it was nearly the dead of night, Ranboo began to sweat. 

“Shh,” Ranboo muttered, as he eased his way into the tent. His goggles were set to night-vision mode, so he didn’t bump into anything like Techno would. It was pitch black. 

With a start, he remembered that it wasn't just him and Techno anymore. Wilbur was also there. He would have to be doubly careful

His steps were quiet and careful, and he picked through the sea of things Wilbur had brought with him until he reached his room. There, once the entrance was firmly closed and no one could see him, Ranboo struck up an oil lantern. He dumped the dragon onto his bed mat. 

The dragon didn’t do anything Ranboo would have expected. It didn’t burst out in flames. It didn’t claw him. Instead, it just wandered towards him, wondering why Ranboo had put it down. 

“Okay,” Ranboo breathed, and dug hands into his hair, “Okay, okay. Oh my god, what did I _do?_ ” 

The dragon did not answer.

“I’m insane,” Ranboo said, “I’m the biggest idiot alive. I brought a _fire-breathing_ dragon into a tent filled with flammable items.” 

The dragon did nothing but blow smoke from its nostrils.

Ranboo had a terrible habit of talking to himself, but he continued, voice low, “I don’t know what to do with you now. How am I going to stop Techno or Wilbur from finding you?”

The dragon padded in a circle, like a cat scouting the best place to sit, and then curled up. It closed its eyes, wholly unimpressed.

Against his better judgement, Ranboo reached out a hand to pet it again. It really was just a cat, right? A scaly, fire-breathing cat, who would one day grow to be larger than Techno, Wilbur, and Ranboo stacked on top of each other. 

Ranboo’s eyes started to droop.

He was sure he would face consequences in the morning, but a tiny part of him whispered that he would wake up and this entire night would be a dream. 

Unfortunately, Ranboo’s luck had always been rotten.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you enjoyed please leave kudos/comments, i really appreciate them!! <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wilbur heavy chapter bc i like his character. enjoy!!

Dragons, apparently, were pretty deep sleepers. 

When he awoke, Ranboo was so certain that his newly adopted baby dragon had died that he frantically placed a hand over its nostrils to see if it was still breathing. Fortunately, he felt a breath of air. 

Not dead, then. That’s good. 

He sat there for a moment, staring at the way its back rose and fell with the breaths. 

How long did baby dragons sleep? Ranboo didn’t know if he wanted to risk leaving his room. But hunger chewed at his stomach, and he reasoned that he would only be away for a few minutes.

Unfortunately, his trip to get food took a lot longer than a few minutes. There was already someone awake. 

“Morning,” Wilbur said politely, seated at the kitchen table. 

“Good morning,” Ranboo mumbled. 

“Sleep well?”

“Fine,” Ranboo said. He wasn’t entirely sure why Techno’s brother wanted to strike up a conversation. 

“Sounds like you didn’t get that much of it.”

Ranboo mumbled something incoherently and hoped it worked as a response. 

“Sorry if we kept you up,” Wilbur shrugged. “Techno’s told me that I’m a loud talker sometimes.”

“I came back to the tent pretty late,” Ranboo said, “You were probably all asleep.” 

“Probably,” yawned Wilbur, “Hope you’re getting enough sleep yourself, though. Techno told me he’s working you to the bone.”

Ranboo shifted uncomfortably. “Not really.”

“You sure?”

“It’s fine,” Ranboo muttered, and wished he had stayed in his room. 

Wilbur hummed. He raised his mug, which smelled like coffee— the new delicacy that was shipped in from territories around the equator. It was supposed to be wildly expensive, but there he was, drinking it in the middle of nowhere like he hadn’t a care in the world. 

“So,” Wilbur said conversationally, “Tell me about yourself, Ranboo.”

He still said it  _ Run-bow.  _ Ranboo winced and fought the urge to correct him. He didn’t want to be annoying.

“There’s not much to say,” Ranboo tried, “Is there anything you want to know?”

“Well, we can start with the basics,” Wilbur said, “How old are you?”

“Nineteen,” Ranboo answered, “I just finished my third year of university.”

West Bridge usually had six separate years of studying; three from ages sixteen to nineteen, and then a typical two year break where students went out and experienced life. Most people ended up working in economic or financial positions, as was typical for West Bridge students. A few became apprentices for small local governments. More than a few simply dropped out, unwilling to do another three years of school after they had learned everything they needed, and opened up their own shops or workplaces. 

Ranboo had been the only one in his class to seek out dragons. 

“Techno told me you went to West Bridge?”

Ranboo nodded.

Wilbur grinned. “I went to Providence.”

Providence University was a similarly prestigious school. Ranboo considered that. Wilbur  _ did  _ look like the type to go there. All the people who went were similarly preppy, elite, and annoying. 

“Did you like it?”

Wilbur shrugged, “I dropped out.”

“Ah.”

“Worth it,” Wilbur said, “It’s much better now. You should consider it, you know. A lot of people don’t return after their apprenticeships are over.” 

Ranboo knew. Most of his classmates he wouldn’t ever see again. 

“I think I’ll return,” Ranboo said, “I like it there.”

“So you’re just using my brother for two years, then?”

Ranboo froze. How was he supposed to respond to that?

Wilbur stared, and then he broke into laughter. “Relax. You look like you’ve just been shot.”

“I—”

Wilbur sighed, long and exaggerated. “Calm down. Come on, take a seat. Tech won’t wake up for another ten hours at least.” 

A thump came from Ranboo’s room, and his heart skipped a beat.

“I have to go,” he managed, and nearly knocked his hesitation over in his haste to check in on his dragon, “Was nice talking to you, but I have things to do and— talk later, bye!”

Wilbur stared after him, confused, but Ranboo didn’t hear if he said anything. There was  _ noise  _ coming from his room, noise that was likely coming from a baby dragon, and there was no way—

Ranboo burst through the canvas and found that the dragon was most  _ definitely _ awake. 

Not only awake, but it was tearing at his mat, with teeth sharp and spiky, and feathers from Ranboo’s pillow were flying across the room.

“Hey!” Ranboo whispered, as close to a shout as he could get. “Stop that!”

The dragon looked at him with wide, nebulous eyes, before promptly continuing to tear his pillow apart.

“Fuck— off—” Ranboo muttered, and ripped the pillow away. He pointed a warning finger at the dragon. If dragons could smile mischievously, this dragon was certainly doing that. 

“Stop eating my things,” Ranboo hissed, and the dragon did not listen. It lunged for his bag next, and Ranboo lunged for it too. 

“Stop it!” Ranboo whisper-shouted, and the dragon’s pupils grew, and Ranboo realized,  _ this is a game.  _ He was only encouraging the behavior. 

How did one get dogs or cats to stop playing with them? Ranboo desperately cast his mind back to anything he could remember from his childhood. Wasn’t there something about not returning affection and firmly saying  _ no?  _

Out in the common area, he heard Techno’s voice. Wilbur’s voice exchanged conversation with it. There were footsteps heading towards his room.  _ Techno’s  _ footsteps. Ranboo’s blood ran cold. 

Ranboo scrambled for his bag, his blanket, and threw the two of them over the dragon. He barely had time to hiss,  _ be quiet!  _ before Techno pulled back the canvas flap. 

“Ranboo,” he said, apparently unconcerned as to the feathers splattered across the room or the mess, “Wilbur’s going to be staying for four more days. Is that manageable?”

Ranboo didn’t know why Techno was bothering to ask, because it wasn’t like he had a say in the matter. But he jumbled out, “Sure.” 

“He’s also a bit of an asshole,” Techno continued, and Wilbur interjected with,  _ not true!  _ from the background. “So if you have trouble with him, talk to me.” 

“Mhm,” managed Ranboo.

Techno glanced around the room. His lip curled in a silent admission of judgement.

“Clean up a bit, won’t you?” he said, and turned to leave.

Ranboo waited one breathless second. Another. He waited until he heard Wilbur say something, tone filled with judgement and scorn, before allowing all the air to leave his lungs. 

“You idiot,” Ranboo huffed, and peeled back his blankets, “You’re going to end my life.”

The dragon did not answer, for in the moments in between Techno entering his room and leaving, it had fallen asleep.

Ranboo fell back onto his bedroll. 

It was shaping up to be a long day. 

* * *

After accidentally adopting a baby dragon (which Ranboo nicknamed  _ Ender  _ after a book he had read as a child), Ranboo’s life changed drastically.

Instead of having the usual list of chores to go through, about a dozen more had been added. He needed to figure out a way to feed the dragon, take care of him, and hide him from Techno. But Ranboo didn’t know  _ any  _ of those things. He didn’t know how because even though he took an anatomy class and a magical defense class and a mythology class at West Bridge, none of them talked about how to take care of a baby dragon. Not one textbook that he brought with him had mentioned it. 

So he did his best. He discovered that Ender didn’t like carrots but it would eat an entire potato raw. That was extremely fortunate, because there were three rows of potatoes that were set to be harvested in the next week. Ranboo also decided that he could go vegetarian, purely to give Ender meat. Strangely enough, it was somehow easier to hide all these changes with Wilbur there. All of Techno’s attention was preoccupied with his brother. If Ranboo thought he had gone unnoticed before, he was nearly invisible now. 

That was the other thing that had changed Ranboo’s life drastically: suddenly having to adjust to a new person. 

Wilbur was anything but a good roommate. He kept odd hours and wouldn’t leave Ranboo alone. While Techno was fine living in complete silence, and Ranboo would just talk to himself if the silence got to be too much, Wilbur wanted to fill the air with noise. In his merchant’s cart, which was parked around the back of the tent, he had brought a guitar. Ranboo thought his songs were distracting, but Techno paid them no mind. He thought that Techno might have liked them, anyway. He had caught Techno humming the tune a few times when he thought no one was listening. 

Wilbur bothered Ranboo when he was doing his chores. He stood over the well and tipped over so far that Ranboo fought the urge to pull him back. He was the opposite of productive and Ranboo thought back to that first conversation he overheard: about how Wilbur was a gambler. It was true. Wilbur gambled with everything.

One morning, on Wilbur’s second day, Ranboo woke up to find a shopping list, pinned to the wood right below his usual chores list.

His heart sank when he looked at it. A shopping list only meant one thing: a trip to the local market. Whenever Techno went, he usually got a room at the local motel and stayed overnight. He had done that for a while before he trusted Ranboo enough to find his way on his own. 

Underneath it, however, was written:  _ take Wilbur with you. _

Ranboo scowled and ripped the paper off. He crumpled it and stuffed it in his pocket.

That put him in quite the dilemma. On one hand, he couldn’t exactly refuse to do what Techno told him. On the other, he had no idea what havoc Ender would wreak without Ranboo there. 

It would be fine, Ranboo tried to reason with himself. It was only three hours’ travel to the nearest small town. Maybe if he timed it correctly, he could coax Ender into sleep, and then use that valuable time to travel to and from the market. 

Ranboo crossed to the blacksmith, where he could hear the familiar sounds of clanging metal. Techno, hard at work, had left the door unlocked. 

“Techno?” Ranboo poked his head inside the room and was nearly blinded with the light of welding. “Can I ask you something?”

Techno stopped, light winking out, and flipped the mask up. “What?”

Ranboo bit the bullet and asked, “How much do baby dragons sleep?”

Techno looked curiously.

“About twenty hours in the first two years,” he answered slowly, “Twelve hours until about twenty.”

Huh.

That made Ranboo’s life a hell of a lot easier, then. He only had to manage a hyperactive, minuscule dragon for four hours a day. Surely that was doable, right?

“Thanks!” Ranboo said, and ducked away. He wondered if it had been too on-the-nose of him to ask, but the deed was already done. If Techno asked, he could always make up some excuse about his thesis. Everyone at West Bridge had to write a thesis at some point in their university career anyway; Ranboo could lie about this for now, and Techno would be none the wiser.

That made things simpler. He couldn’t take Ender with him on the journey, but he could time it well enough. Four hours was a good enough gamble to take. Wilbur’s influence was rubbing off on him. 

A few hours later, Wilbur called, “Ranboo? Are you ready?”

Ranboo ran a careful hand over the downy-soft scales around Ender’s ears and neck. Ender was curled underneath his blanket. It was a gamble, but it was one that he would have to take. 

There was a whisper in the back of his head that muttered,  _ Techno will find out.  _

“Ranboo!” Wilbur shouted.  _ Run-bow.  _ “Hurry up.”

“One moment,” Ranboo called back, and layered his blankets over Ender. From a distance it looked like a miscellaneous clump of clothes. It would have taken careful inspection to see said lump rising and falling with breath. 

_ Please,  _ Ranboo prayed,  _ stay asleep.  _ He hoped that those were the few times his prayers went answered.

“We can take the cart,” Wilbur gestured, though his tone made it clear he wasn’t entirely pleased with Techno making him leave as well. “You have the money?”

Ranboo nodded. Out on the table Techno had left a small leather pouch, filled with the glint of gold coins. He pressed a hand to his pocket to ensure it was still there.

“Good,” Wilbur said, “Let’s go.” 

He already had his two horses, tawny and sleek, set to pull the wagon. Ranboo was uncomfortable sitting next to Wilbur in the front, a bench that’s large enough to fit two people, so he went into the back. It was like one of those old-fashioned wagons that Ranboo had seen travel through Rochester every so often. Wilbur’s cart, however, didn’t have a domed canvas covering. Only two benches, on either side, that can store things inside of them. Ranboo carefully took a seat on one of them and watched Techno’s encampment fade into the distance. Something inside of him hurt, stretched and snapped, like a rubber band pulled too taut. He felt strange being so far away from Ender. 

He braved, “How long does it take to get to the market from here?”

Wilbur lounged back. “Three hours with the horses. It depends how lazy they feel like being.” 

Ranboo  _ hmmed.  _

“Can’t believe Techno sent me away,” Wilbur muttered, half lost in thought. “What a fantastic brother, huh?”

Ranboo had no siblings, so he couldn’t comment on how wonderful Techno was at being a sibling. He awkwardly tried, “He seems pretty nice.”

“Hm.”

“I mean, he’s letting you stay, right?”

Wilbur lapsed into silence.

“Don’t tell Techno I told you this,” he said eventually, “But he used to be a lot— softer, I guess. Back in the city. He’s very different now.” 

“Rochester?” Ranboo asked.

Wilbur turned to look at him. “You grew up in Rochester too?”

Ranboo nodded. “Right on the corner of that old library and Ringham Alley.”

Wilbur let out a shocked laugh. “I was born on Coroquet Lane. But I grew up in the District Orphanage.”

“Is that where you met Techno?”

Wilbur huffed. “No. He was already living with the person that adopted me.” 

There was a note of bitter silence beneath his words. 

“Well,” Ranboo offered, “I grew up with my parents. In a tiny apartment right above the butcher’s shop on Ringham. He always gave us the scraps every morning, when my mom still worked for him.”

It was a memory he hadn’t thought much about until now. But Ranboo could remember only the barest hints from those childhood times; the smell of roasting meat, the glimmer of a copper house key, the draft blowing in from the windows. That had been his life, before they had forgone the apartment and moved to a much larger, kinder part of town once they gathered enough funds. 

Wilbur hummed. “Do you miss it?”

Ranboo took a moment to consider that. Honestly, he said, “I don’t know.”

Living in the Eastern Wastelands, the farthest civilized place away from actual civilization, was certainly a large change from the sprawling, busy city of Rochester. In the city, there had been activity on every corner. The streets were paved with cobble and carriages were a common scene; technology was growing as well, an impending industrial revolution that Ranboo couldn’t wait to see happen. It was slowly crowding out the use of magic as well.

Magic was a fading tool, and Ranboo knew that well enough. It took a dedicated and patient person to understand the craft of it— for magic was like any other science, really— but with the ease of technology, magic had become sparse in the central cities. In the three months he’d spent out in the Eastern Wastelands with Technoblade, Ranboo had seen more magic used than in his entire nineteen years at Rochester. 

That didn’t mean that he didn’t miss home, though. He missed his parents and his dog and his friends at university, even if they did not miss him in return. But there was something compelling about the emptiness of Techno’s encampment and the open sky, stretching overhead endlessly. 

“It’s a nice change,” Wilbur allowed. “I’m sure you’re used to it by this point, though.”

Ranboo nodded. 

“So you’re planning to stay the full two years, then?” 

“I think so,” braved Ranboo. 

Wilbur muttered something under his breath. It sounded suspiciously like  _ if he doesn’t kick you out first. _

Something sparked inside of Ranboo’s mind. 

“What?” he asked.

Wilbur waved a hand. 

“Nothing,” he said. “Let’s just sit in silence.” 

Without even meaning to, Wilbur had offered him a thread of information, weaving together a tapestry of memory. 

Ranboo pondered on that as they drew closer to the market. 

* * *

The market was already bustling when they arrived. 

Wilbur announced that he would stay with the cart while Ranboo purchased whatever Techno needed, but Ranboo caught him twirling a deck of cards between his fingers as he walked away. Privately, he hoped that Wilbur didn’t do anything rash. He seemed both the most mature person Ranboo had ever met and also the most immature. A strange mix of the two. 

Ranboo thought about the list in his pocket. He had never been good at haggling, which was likely why Techno had sent him with extra money. Haggling also required a fair bit of intimidation, and Ranboo might have been tall, but he wasn’t threatening like Techno was. Only tall and gangly and a little naive at the best of times.

He approached the first stall, selling pottery vases (Ender had smashed one while Ranboo was trying to corral him back into his room, and Ranboo had taken full blame for breaking it) and began the exchange.

Haggling with traders went like this: they set a price that was ridiculously high, and only the dumbest idiots would take it. It was almost a given that one would barter with them. So the guy said  _ five gold coins  _ and Ranboo pulled on his best acting skills, gaped at him, and retorted,  _ one silver piece or I’m gone. _

_ Alright. Four gold coins, final offer.  _ Ranboo said,  _ I’ll do you a favor. Two silver pieces. More than this crap is worth.  _ The guy acted offended.  _ Not even three?  _ Ranboo hummed, pretended to consider, and said,  _ I’ll give you two gold pieces.  _

The guy grinned. He passed the wide brimmed vase over and Ranboo in turn handed him two gold pieces, rubbed to a shine. He returned to Wilbur to drop his newfound treasure off and found, to his disappointment, that Wilbur was nowhere to be found.

Ranboo cursed his luck, prayed that no one would loot the cart in their absence, and returned to the market to barter more.

By the end of the afternoon, he had gotten everything he needed, and he still had a few gold pieces left over. Wilbur returned to his side when the sky began changing colors, and there was a smug look on his face. He whispered, “Ran a few guys out of their money. If you see someone in a blue dragon wrangler’s mask,  _ turn the other way, _ ” and then stretched out his hand. There was a daring smile on his face.

Louder, he said, “Let’s go get something to eat, shall we?”

Wilbur and Ranboo ended up cross-legged in the grass, plates of the inn’s finest food in front of them. Ranboo had splurged and bought a carton of fresh fruit, for more money than it was worth. But he didn’t grow fruit in Techno’s garden, and he could hardly remember the last time he had eaten a strawberry. It slipped down his throat, sweet and juicy. 

“Shame you don’t grow these,” Wilbur said, voicing Ranboo’s thoughts, and took another, “They’re quite nice.”

“Weather,” Ranboo said, “And temperature, it gets too hot and too dry.”

“That’s what Techno gets for living in the middle of a desert,” Wilbur said. “He picked the worst place to live.”

Ranboo mumbled, “It’s close to dragons.”

A heavy sigh from Wilbur.

“It is!” Ranboo argued. “If you like dragons, and you’re a good enough wrangler, then there’s nowhere better to be than the Wastelands, it’s where you’ll find all the herds.” 

“That’s all fair and well for you shepherds,” Wilbur said, tone scathing, “But the rest of us enjoy some civilization once in a while.” 

“So where do you live?” Ranboo asked.

“When I’m not staying with Techno?” Wilbur let out a short, bitter laugh. “I tend to stay in the north. There’s a budding empire there and I fit in well.”

“Is that where your family lives too?”

A pause.

Wilbur looked at the empty basket of strawberries, shook it, and said, “Give me some money. I’m going to get more.” 

Ranboo fumbled in his pocket for the last gold coin he’d brought and pressed it into Wilbur’s palm. Wilbur turned on his heel and vanished into the crowd again. 

Ranboo rested back on his elbows. His mouth was filled with the taste of savory gravy and potatoes, and his stomach was filled with buttered corn and roasted street meat and he wanted to lie back in the damp grass and sleep for ages.

The sun began to dip, and with a shock, Ranboo’s eyes flew open.

_ Ender. _

He glanced around for Wilbur. How long had it been? It must have been hours, by that point. Edner would surely be waking up soon, and only god knew what havoc he would wreak on the encampment when Ranboo’s wasn’t there to hold him back or keep him busy. And the fear that Techno might find out….

Ranboo still wasn’t over Techno saying  _ for profit  _ after killing that dragon. 

The way he said it haunted Ranboo. How his eyes had changed from glazed, hollowed, to perfectly clear and unperturbed. Ranboo felt sick when he thought about it for too long.

He hadn’t expected such callousness from the best dragon wrangler known to man, although his hindsight told him that he should have. Ranboo had always been too naive, too stupid. His mind flashed back to what Wilbur and Techno said about him, when they thought he wasn’t listening.  _ City boy.  _ How strange that such a small insult made him feel so upset. 

When Wilbur returned, Ranboo said, “I think we should start heading back.”

“That bored of me?” Wilbur shrugged. “Fine. Here’s your fruit, in case you wanted it.” 

Ranboo received the carton. Wilbur flipped something else up, reflecting the light. Ranboo reflexively snatched it out of the air. 

There in his hand was the gold coin.

He looked down at the carton of strawberries in his hands. “Did you  _ steal  _ this?”

“Don’t be so loud,” Wilbur said imperiously, and strode towards the cart, “Let’s get going, shall we?”

* * *

On the third morning after Wilbur arrived, the mail arrived as well.

Ranboo knew this because it was the same day every week that mail arrived, brought by a horse-rider in a black mask. It was a lonely job to be a mailman in the middle of the Eastern Wastelands, and Techno got a lot of mail. The mailman has recognized Ranboo at this point, and handed the mail over without question. Ranboo then would place the mail on Techno’s desk, and when Techno failed to read it or open it or even acknowledge it, all the letters went inside the bottom drawer. It was stuffed full. One of those days, Ranboo would have to clean it out. 

This morning, however, both Ranboo and Techno were too slow to retrieve the mail. 

Ranboo went outside at the crack of dawn, after carefully ensuring that Ender was tucked inside his saddlebag and sleeping, to see that Wilbur was already awake and flipping through a series of letters that were dusty with sand. He turned them over idly, hardly caring for which ones were his and which were Techno’s, and Ranboo saw the moment that he looked at the last one— a square white envelope, stamped with red wax wings. 

“Phil,” he muttered, and ran a finger over the seal. 

Wilbur glanced towards Techno’s tent, where the other man was presumably still sleeping, and muttered, “That motherfucking  _ liar.” _

Ranboo watched with wide eyes as Wilbur stormed inside the tent, and Ranboo decided that nothing about that was his issue. Jeffrey the hen tugged at his pant legs. She clucked. 

“I know,” Ranboo said to her, and clutched his saddlebag (containing one dragon) closer to his side. “It’s probably not going to be a good day.”

Inside there was the sound of glass smashing. Ranboo winced.

“Alright,” he declared, “We’re going to be staying outside today, how’s that sound?”

Jeffrey clucked incomprehensibly back. Ender let out a little huff of smoke in his sleep. Ranboo took that as a  _ genius idea, Ranboo. Don’t go inside. _

He drew up a bucket from the well and the water slopped out, soaked through his sleeve. Ranboo winced but carried it over to the garden. The thick canvas walls of the tent stifled some noise, but not enough. It wasn’t enough when Wilbur was shouting, as well, and his voice carried.

“You told me Phil wasn’t mailing you,” Wilbur accused.

There was a muted answer from Techno, low and upset.

“You lied,” Wilbur accused, “How many of these letters have you gotten from Phil?”

A response from Techno. Ranboo ducked his head and focused on trying to find the weeds. Pull from the root. Breach the soil. Discard. Repeat. 

Another shout from Wilbur. “So you’ve just been ignoring us?” 

Ranboo moved onto the next row. He spent a few minutes stubbornly digging out a weed that has cast roots all the way down the plant bed. 

“I haven’t been ignoring you.”

“It seems like it!”

“Lower your goddamn voice.”

“Fuck off.” 

“It’s just a letter.” 

“He’s your  _ dad,”  _ Wilbur said. 

Ranboo’s ears were hot. His throat was tight. 

“He’s  _ your  _ dad,” Techno corrected, and laced in his tone was something dark and ugly. “Now, if you don’t mind, clean up this glass before someone cuts their foot open. I’d hate for it to be you.” 

There was terrible, stifling silence. A buzzing filled Ranboo’s ears. 

The tent flap opened, lifted, and fell again. Footsteps crunched against the dirt. They paused, before heading in his direction. 

“Ranboo,” Wilbur complained, and leaned against the fence.  _ Run-bow.  _ “Talk to me. Tell me something interesting.”

Ranboo stared down at the damp dirt, at the weeds he had yet to pull. His gaze hardened. 

He did not like Wilbur. He especially did not like the way that Wilbur treated him like he was just another common farm boy. It made him angry.

But Techno was nowhere around to back him up (and besides, Techno would probably choose Wilbur over his apprentice, anyway), and so Ranboo did what Wilbur asked.

He recited dully, “Dragons can live for up to a thousand years old.”

A lengthy, exhausted sigh. “You’re obsessed too.”

“I’m not—”

“Just like Techno,” Wilbur said, leaning forward.

Ranboo had the terrible feeling that he was about to be used as a pawn in an argument he had no place in.

“Who, by the way,” Wilbur continued nonchalantly, “Is a goddamn liar.”

“Yeah,” Ranboo muttered, “I’ve heard you say that one before.”

“Did you know he lies about everything?” Wilbur said. “I bet he’s lied to you about shit too.”

“Probably has,” Ranboo mumbled, and looked around for any way to escape from the conversation. He was incredibly grateful that he had something to do with his hands so he didn’t have to look at Wilbur.

“He didn’t even tell you I existed,” Wilbur said.

That, Ranboo couldn’t argue with.

“Ranboo,” Wilbur argued.  _ Run-bow.  _ “Are you going to take his side here?”

The sun beat down onto the back of his neck. Sweat beaded at his temple.

“Ranboo,” Wilbur called, “Are you listening?”

Ranboo snapped, “It’s  _ ran-boo.  _ Not  _ run-bow.” _

Wilbur paused.

“Touchy,” he said.

“And don’t use me as a weapon in your family issues,” Ranboo said, irritated, “I’m here for Techno, not you.” 

A moment of shocked silence. 

Wilbur stared at him. Ranboo tensed. He didn’t know what Wilbur would do, but the last thing he expected was this: laughter. 

Wilbur laughed. He wiped at his eyes and tried to stop laughing, but didn't.

“Ranboo,” he corrected, and said it right that time, “Have I been saying your name wrong this whole time?”

Ranboo nodded.

“Why didn’t you  _ tell  _ me?”

Ranboo shrugged.

“Just let me embarrass myself, huh?”

There was no trace of the animosity in his voice that was present only a few moments before. Only jesting. 

“I… I guess?”

“Ranboo,” Wilbur repeated, as if making sure he had it correct, “Ran-boo. Is that right?”

Ranboo hesitantly nodded.

Wilbur sighed. “I’d appreciate knowing in advance next time. Though I don’t think there will be a next time.” 

“There probably won’t,” Ranboo agreed. If he could help it, he would never be caught dead in a conversation with Wilbur again. 

Ranboo glanced down at the pile of discarded weeds he had accumulated. His fingernails were stained with dirt; he moved onto the next row. These potatoes would be ready to harvest in a few days; he would check then. Wilbur didn’t leave and instead shifted, sitting cross-legged. He leaned back against the fence, which creaked with his weight. 

“That probably wasn’t very fair of me,” admitted Wilbur, after a lengthy pause. “Techno can be annoying sometimes.”

Ranboo focused all his attention on the potatoes. He had been living with Techno for two months; he knew all too well what it was like for Techno to be “annoying.” 

Belatedly, he realized that Wilbur wanted a conversation with him. The last thing Ranboo wanted was to be dragged back into the convoluted relationship that was Wilbur and Techno, so he said, “Mhm.”

“Mhm,” Wilbur repeated, “That’s all?”

A thread of condescension wormed its way into Wilbur’s voice. Ranboo’s face was hot.

“I don’t care about whatever you and Techno have,” Ranboo forced himself to say, steadily, “Go see a therapist or a psychic if you’re that troubled by it.” 

“Techno told me you were a good listener.” 

That was surprising.

“I am?”

“He doesn’t say that about just anyone,” Wilbur said.

Though Ranboo knew Wilbur was likely just saying things to make him talk, Ranboo felt a flicker of pride bloom in his sternum. Making Techno talk about him was a good thing in his book.

“That’s nice of him,” said Ranboo. He sat back on his heels after unearthing half the row. One of them was rotten; Ranboo tossed it to the side. 

“I’m surprised that he took another apprentice,” Wilbur said. “I hope he doesn’t ruin your life, too.”

Ranboo stilled.

He looked down at the dirt, dry and crumbly beneath his fingers. It took a few careful reminders that Wilbur was the type of person who wanted a reaction. He wanted Ranboo to ask. 

“Oh,” Wilbur said, when he had gotten no response. He sounded delighted, “So you don’t know?”

Ranboo’s throat was tight. 

“Know  _ what?” _

He glanced back up at Wilbur to see a grin plastered on his face. 

“I can’t believe you don’t know about Tommy,” Wilbur said, like that was any answer at all. “I could tell you, if you’d like.” 

A few things connected in Ranboo’s mind.

The letter in the blacksmith, pressed flat by careful hands.  _ Are you sure you won’t let Tommy return?  _ The silent admission that something had split Techno’s relationship with his family— his brother? Was that who Tommy was? And the two times Techno had accidentally called Ranboo by someone else’s name. 

Weaving threads together, a spider building a web of memories. Ranboo pieced things together, one by one. 

Ranboo swallowed hard.

“I don’t need to hear it from you,” he said firmly. “Techno can tell me whenever he wants.” 

Wilbur’s gaze was skeptical.

“You’re a strange kid,” he said.

Ranboo, bemused, said, “Thank you.”

“Shame you’ll never get a straight answer from Techno about it though.”

Something in his tone switched to dark and cruel.

Ranboo felt compelled to say, “I have my own family. I don’t need to hear about his.”

“Yeah?” Wilbur asked, amused. “That’s why you get so much mail from them, right?”

Ranboo went still.

“That’s not,” he tried, but didn’t bother finishing his sentence. Wilbur’s face was already self-satisfied, smirking, like he had won a competition that only he was playing in. 

“Just promise me this, Ranboo,” he said, “Don’t get too attached to Techno. He’ll only stab you in the back at the first chance.”

_ Ran-boo. _

Wilbur stood up. Brushed the dust from his pants. Looked towards the sky, barely blooming with sunlight. 

“I’ll see you sometime,” Wilbur said. “For now, goodbye.” 

Without a second glance, he turned and left Ranboo behind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for not much baby dragon content. i promise next chapter though will answer a lot of questions (and will have more of ender). it might be updated the 14th instead of the 7th due to college things, but i promise i'll have this fic finished by then. 
> 
> ty for reading!! please leave kudos/comments, i rly enjoy them <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, i'm so sorry for the long wait, i feel terrible about it and my classes have been awful. i hope this last chapter makes up for the extra week!

Ranboo woke up to find that Wilbur was already gone.

“He left before dawn,” Techno said, when Ranboo tentatively asked about it. “Said that he had places to be.”

The spot where Wilbur’s cart had been was empty. The room Techno briefly rearranged to be a guest room was dull and faded. Wilbur Soot and all the chaos he had brought to Techno and Ranboo had simply vanished.

It was back to just the two of them. 

And Ender, of course. Though Techno knew nothing of the sort. 

Ranboo stretched, pressed two fingers to Ender’s sleeping head for good luck, and snapped his goggles on. 

Another day, another routine. 

His routine, however, now felt strangely lacking. Ranboo dropped the bucket into the well, began the slow process of wheeling it out. He had done this daily for nearly three months; at this point, his arms barely felt the twinge anymore. Ranboo dipped a hand into the icy water, shook the drops off. He lugged it over to the garden and knelt down. 

He distinctly recalled sitting there with Wilbur, just the day before, as he idly chatted about anything and everything there was. Now there was nothing but silence. Only the faint clucking of the chickens, nipping at each other, the soft sounds of Ender sleeping in Ranboo’s saddlebag. That was Ender’s favorite place recently, to the point where Ranboo resolved to use it for nothing else. He  _ couldn’t  _ use it for anything else— Ender was irritated when anything was put on top of him, or beneath him, or to the side of him, and quickly Ranboo had realized that if dragons were divas, Ender was certainly one.

He looked at the sleeping saddlebag, snoozing underneath the shade of a fencepost, and got back to his routine.

Ranboo spent longer than usual at the garden. No potatoes were set to be harvested that day, though Ranboo did see the sprouts of some that would turn into good, hearty roots soon. Recently they had been growing beetroot as well. Wilbur, when trading with Techno, had brought a few packets of the bright red seeds. These grew faster than potatoes; the deep red of the bulbs already poked up from the damp earth. Ranboo wondered when they would be ready to harvest. He had never grown them before. 

It was gratifying, in a way, to see the garden unfurl beneath his fingertips. He had, after all, been the person doing the most work; now he got to see the fruits of his labor. It was also even more gratifying without Wilbur there to irritate him.

It had only been a week— perhaps even less, though the days blurred together in Ranboo’s mind— but Wilbur’s presence had been suffocating, awful. 

At first he had felt strangely gutted when Wilbur had left so abruptly, but the larger part of him sucked in a breath, feeling like it was the first time he had filled his lungs in a week. He hadn’t expected his absence to feel like a lead weight was lifted from his throat, but that was the closest description Ranboo had to it. He felt like he was stepping into fresh air for the first time in ages. 

With Wilbur’s disappearance too, Techno had gone back to some facsimile of normal. He spent more time in the blacksmith, always working on something or other, and wouldn’t speak to Ranboo. He behaved the same way he had in the beginning; distant, cold, unimpressed with anything Ranboo did. It almost felt as if he had stepped back in time, to those early days when it seemed as if Ranboo could do no right.

Ranboo stepped back from the farm.

He glanced towards the entrance to the encampment. It was late morning, and the chances of Techno still sleeping were high. There wasn’t much to be done besides the same chores, over and over, and of course— Ender. 

The sun rose higher, the day quickened its pace. There was much to be done and so many things to see. 

Ranboo carefully picked up the saddlebag Ender was in, held it carefully to his side, and moved onto the next task. 

* * *

Ender had been more riotous lately, more exuberant. He echoed Ranboo in a lot of ways, and sometimes Ranboo found himself looking at the dragon with a sort of wistfulness, a sort of nostalgia; Ender reminded Ranboo of himself, as he was a child. 

The afternoons passed in a strange sort of haze; Ranboo felt more on edge than usual, like he was floating half in his body and half out of it. Techno barely talked to him in the week after Wilbur left, so Ranboo talked mostly to himself. He spent a lot of time talking to Ender as well, to the point where Ranboo thought Ender may actually understand some English. 

Still, if Ender did understand any language, the one thing he didn’t understand was  _ no! _

Ranboo found himself shouting  _ no  _ a lot. That morning, when Ender tore through one of Ranboo’s favorite shirts, and a few hours later, when he tipped over an ink bottle— promptly ruining Ranboo’s bedsheets. Ranboo had been forced to rinse them off by the well earlier while Techno made a rare, dark-eyed appearance from inside the tent. 

“I didn’t think you were so clumsy,” commented Techno offhandedly.

“I’m not,” Ranboo muttered, and tried to stop the burn of embarrassment from scalding his cheeks off. 

Techno hummed, said nothing, and turned away. Ranboo wrung the sheets tighter and watched the black ink seep out, running over his hands. 

Ranboo woke up one morning at the crack of dawn. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, stretched languidly. Ender, unfortunately, was already awake as well; even though baby dragons were supposed to sleep for hours each day, it always seemed like Ender was awake at the worst points.

“Come on, then,” muttered Ranboo, as Ender squirmed and clawed his way up his pants leg, “Let’s get going.”

Halfway across the clearing to the well, Ender’s restless movements froze.

Ranboo stilled too. “You okay?”

Ender tilted his head, as if sniffing the air, and then locked his gaze on the chicken coop.

“Absolutely not,” Ranboo declared, and wrapped an arm firmly around Ender, who scrambled in the air towards the hens, “Ender, no!”

Ender stubbornly did not listen, set his sights on the hens, and  _ clawed,  _ fiercely and painfully, down Ranboo’s arms. Reflexively, Ranboo dropped him, and Ender, like a baby dragon who had zero impulse control, raced for the chicken coop.

“Ender!” Ranboo hissed, and darted after him. 

Feathers flew in a flurry of red and white. Jeffrey the hen squawked indignantly and hurried out of the way. Ranboo seized Ender right around the middle and scooped him up, right before his jaws would have snapped closed around one of the hens. 

“Fuck,” Ranboo panted, out of breath from the sudden exhilaration, “Ender, you can’t do that!”

Ender made a noise remarkably similar to a human child who had just been told  _ no  _ for the first time. 

“No!” Ranboo repeated. “You can’t— think of what Techno would say— it would be awful—”

And muttering to himself, attempting to alleviate the wild, rushing fear that had just coursed through him, Ranboo stubbornly carried Ender away from the hens. 

This would be so much easier if Ranboo simply  _ knew what he was doing. _

It felt as if he were flying blind, every single day. It was always trial and error, sometimes much more error than trial at all. He didn’t know what to do, he wasn’t a mother dragon, and he couldn’t help but worry that one day he would wake up to find that Ender was—

Well. He didn’t allow those worries to surface. Instead, Ranboo shoved them down, placed a heavy iron weight on top, and turned his attention to something else. He had a baby dragon, and he would do whatever it took to keep him safe. Wouldn’t he? 

And wouldn’t it be so much easier if there was something to learn from?

It was nearing autumn, and mating season for dragons was in the spring, but wouldn’t it be worth going to the herd again? Techno hadn’t suggested anything of the sort, but Ranboo felt excitement begin to stir in his stomach. Maybe there would be a proper time, then, to tell Techno about the dragon he had been sheltering in their encampment. He would have to tell him at some point. Ranboo couldn’t keep a secret forever.

Mind set, Ranboo waited for the best time to ask Techno. He would have to catch him at a good time— so not early in the morning and not when he was busy working. That left very few moments, but fortunately a good time rolled around: one day later, when the sun was at its highest. 

Techno emerged from his room looking just as tired as he always did, and moved towards the kitchen area. Ranboo followed him, feeling like a lost puppy. 

He cleared his throat. “Do you know when we’ll go visit the dragons again?” 

Techno paused. 

“I’m going this weekend,” he said.

Ranboo blinked. “Really?” 

Then Techno said: “You won’t be coming, of course.”

Everything stilled. “What?”

“I said you won’t be coming,” Techno repeated, unconcerned, “I’m going by myself.”

“But—”

“But  _ what?”  _ Techno snapped. Harshly. Much more harshly than he had ever spoken to Ranboo. 

Ranboo was stunned into silence. 

“Nothing,” he managed, after an endless moment. “That’s— fine.”

Techno eyed him. 

“Good,” he said, “That’s what I thought.”

Techno stalked into his room, clearly irritated. Ranboo stayed frozen. He could hear his heartbeat pulsing in his ears. The same writhing anxiety clawed through him.

The thing was, he wasn’t sure what he had done. 

_ Had  _ he done something wrong?

Ranboo cast his mind back to the events of the last few days, and then the days before that. For all his thinking, he couldn’t come up with anything he had done that would have put Techno in a bad mood.

Ranboo found his answer, though, when he went into the blacksmith to clean the next day. Techno was preparing to leave, and the central area of their encampment had been filled with all the things needed for a long journey; a bedroll, rolled up right, all the materials needed for starting a fire, food and waterskins, a worn-through cloak for cold weather, basic magical enchantments and runes. There were a few items of dragonskin clothing there as well— those, Ranboo stared at for a long time. His own dragonskin clothing was gathering dust in his room. He hadn’t had a chance to wear it since the last time Techno had taken him to go see the local herd of dragons. It was painful to see Techno go and visit them when Ranboo couldn’t. 

While Techno was busy filling the saddlebags, Ranboo went around as quietly as possible trying to finish his tasks. He eased open the heavy stone door to the forge and strapped his goggles tighter against the soot in the air. 

His gaze fell upon where the letter had been, so long ago. But there was nothing there.

Only the last few remnants of smoldering ash, still burning.

Had he…?

Ranboo realized that he was staring at the burnt ashes of the letter for too long, and moved on it. Something heavy made itself known in the back of his throat, something that tasted of bitter iron and had no name. 

What had driven Techno to burn a letter he clearly cared deeply about, Ranboo had no idea. 

Ranboo set his gaze firmly on the floor. 

He picked up the broom.

And, because life fell into routines, and Ranboo’s routine was nothing but simple, he began sweeping. He firmly ignored the heaviness, uncomfortable and insinuating, stuck firmly inside his mind. 

* * *

Techno left in the next hour, and the world fell into heavy silence. 

It was just Ranboo, Ender, and the wide swath of sky above them. 

* * *

“Come on,” Ranboo said, on the second morning Techno was away, “We’re going on a journey.”

He wasn’t planning on going far, but Ender scampered away, grateful to stretch his legs, and excited to have such a boundless area to explore. He had grown (so slightly) bigger. Big enough that his scales were hardening into a glossy, speckled black, instead of the downy soft skin they had first been. His legs were too long for him, and he stumbled while running, wings too small to fly, gangly, wobbling. Ranboo let out a burst of shocked laughter the first time Ender went bowling head over tail. 

“You can’t run!” he exclaimed. “Slow down, slow down.”

Ender took no note of that, and simply kept running headlong into everything he saw. Leaping from boulders, chewing sticks to pieces, teeth sharp and damaging. Ranboo found that it was like taking care of a newborn puppy, in a way. Besides the fact that Ender was a being of magic, would grow to be a dozen times larger than Ranboo, a thousand times heavier, and would be able to do things he had never dreamed of. 

Eventually Ender stopped, hopefully tiring himself out, and then turned back towards Ranboo. Two triangular ears, black at the edges, tilted hopefully towards him.

“Oh,” Ranboo said in recognition, “You want to play.” 

Ender only blinked solemnly. 

Ranboo nodded uncertainly. Did dragons… did they play fetch? Was that something that dragons did, just like dogs?

Ranboo tested the theory out. Carefully, he picked up a stick from the ground and waved it, until all of Ender’s attention was firmly caught on it. Then Ranboo pulled his arm back and flung the stick as far as it would go.

Ender’s pupils went wide and black, and he sprinted.

“Whoa,” Ranboo muttered. “Guess that’s…”

He never finished his sentence, because upon returning, Ender barreled directly into his shins and dropped the stick at his feet, practically begging him to throw it again. Ranboo grinned, wide enough to hurt, and threw it again.

They returned back to the encampment once nighttime started to fall. It was easy to see the flickering glow of yellow on the horizon and to find their way back. Ranboo entered the cool shadows of the tent, and Ender bounded excitedly after him, close by his heels. He was tired; the night had started to cling to him, draining his energy, and Ranboo hoped that Ender would soon be the same way.

“Hey,” Ranboo laughed, as Ender clawed at his pants leg, climbing up, “Slow down, okay— no!”

Ender paid him no mind and, lashing his tail, knocked a vase directly from the table to the floor. It shattered.

Ranboo paused. Ender stared at the fragments of it with little remorse.

“Ender!” complained Ranboo, “Again?”

Ender blinked, eyes wide, and scampered away.

Ranboo sighed. He crouched down and began to clean up the mess his dragon had made. This was unfortunate. It was also the second vase Ender had broken in two weeks. That wasn’t a good track record to have.

And if his calculations were right, Techno should be arriving home soon. 

But Ranboo waited up the entirety of the third day for Techno to return, only to be greeted with silence. He sat very still, but there was no light crossing the land, and there was no sign of a horse galloping towards home.

He must have been so lost in thought that it took Ender more than a few whines to catch his attention.

“Techno will be back soon,” Ranboo said out loud to him, “It’s only been what— three days? He’s probably on his way back home right now.”

Ender tilted his head at Ranboo, made a questioning  _ chirrup? _

“I don’t know,” Ranboo sighed, “But I hope it’s soon.”

* * *

Techno returned much, much later than expected.

Ranboo was busy inside when he returned, and he blinked.

“Techno,” he said, voice half gone, “You were gone for— for so long.”

Technoblade was wearing a new cloak, red and made for traveling, and his dragon wrangler’s mask was dull with dust; he must have been on horseback for a long, long while. Familiar scratches ran across what exposed skin he had, and the back of his hand was blistered and burnt, as if scorched with fire. Ranboo stared at it as he passed, wide-eyed and speechless.

He found his voice: “Are you okay?” 

Techno said nothing, only a half-audible mutter of irritation, and ignored him.

“Techno?”

Techno strode past him, ducked inside his room, and vanished. 

Something welled in Ranboo’s throat, strange and unappealing, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Techno’s room. There was a shuffling sound and a breath, sucked in between clenched teeth, and Ranboo had the desperate urge to go knock and ask if he was okay. 

He didn’t.

Instead, he retreated to his side of the tent and stared at Ender’s sleeping figure, buried beneath a pile of clothes still warm from drying in the sunlight. He tried to figure out what was going on with Techno, but the more he put the pieces together, the more they seemed to fall apart. 

Techno emerged thirty minutes later, cloak gone and wrangler’s mask set aside, and crossed over towards the kitchen. With the cloak off it was easier to see the full extent of the burn; smooth, pink, bubbling halfway up his arm. Ranboo winced.

“You were gone for a long time,” Ranboo said, barely realizing he was speaking out loud.

“It was a week,” Techno shrugged, “That’s hardly anything.” 

“A week is a long time.”

“Did anything happen while I was gone?” Techno asked absentmindedly, as he moved towards the kitchen. “Nothing bad, I hope.”

Ranboo shook his head mutely. It had been a quiet week completely on his own. He told Techno so.

Techno swung open a cabinet, and he paused.

“What happened to the vase?”

Ranboo winced.

“I— broke it,” he lied hastily. 

“Again?”

“Sorry,” Ranboo tried. 

Techno’s stare was flat and unimpressed.

“I’d appreciate it if you stopped breaking my things,” he said, and Ranboo nodded. Shame flushed across him at Techno’s patronizing tone. 

“I didn’t mean to,” he tried, but Techno had already moved on. 

He moved with a limp again, though it was barely noticeable. Still Ranboo was sharp-eyed enough to notice the way he favored one side more than the other.

“Where did you go?” Ranboo tried, after a moment. “You were gone for a long time.”

“I went to visit the herd.” 

Ranboo blurted, though his mind told him he shouldn’t, “Were you visiting Wilbur?” 

Techno stared at him. Then he laughed, dryly. 

“I don't visit him,” he said, “He visits  _ me.” _

“Aren’t you family?”

“I don’t see how this is any of your business,” Techno said.

“I’m just wondering.”

“Wonder less.”

Ranboo swallowed, turned away. “Sorry.” 

He needed to stop letting his curiosity get the best of him. 

“And to answer your question,” Techno said, after a lengthy pause, “I was visiting the dragons. They’re migrating. I’m following where they go.”

“Where are they heading?”

“Further north.”

“Doesn’t your family live there?”

Why had he said that? Ranboo wanted to slap himself. Hadn’t Techno just told him that it was none of his business?

But Techno didn’t seem to mind, and almost as if he hadn’t heard him: “I think so. I don’t know about Tommy— or about everyone.” 

Then he came back to himself, and his hands stilled over the table. 

“Sorry,” said Ranboo awkwardly, though he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for this time.

Techno cleared his throat. For a moment, there was something stirring in his eyes, something dark and uncomfortable. Something that lurked beneath the surface, never vocalized, and always tainting, always scarring. 

_ Who is Tommy, _ Ranboo wanted to ask,  _ why does he keep coming up in every conversation we have? _

But the question remained on the tip of his tongue, never making it to noise.

“Why are you apologizing?” Techno said blankly. “Stop apologizing for everything you do. It makes you even more annoying than he was.”

Then Techno turned away, vanishing into the depths of the tent and didn’t emerge.

Ranboo felt as if he were about to boil over from the inside out. 

He had a terrible sense that something inevitable was about to overcome them.

* * *

Night arrived, and Ranboo wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. His plans to sleep, however, were firmly ruined. 

There was a crash from outside. 

Ranboo paused, in his sleep clothes and eyes half-closed. 

He scanned his room quickly, but Ender was nowhere to be found.  _ Shit. _

Cautiously, Ranboo peeked outside his room. The tent was shadowed. There was no hint of Ender anywhere. 

“Ender?” Ranboo whispered, as loud as he dared. He assumed that Techno was in his room, and Ranboo didn’t want to bother him. “Ender, where are you?”

He levered his goggles into night-vision mode, and the world glowed alight in eerie green. Ranboo moved swiftly and silently throughout the common area. He ducked behind the kitchen table and peered under the desk.

“Ender?” Ranboo called again, a little louder this time, and cast a worried glance to Techno’s room. “Come out, please.” 

Still no sound. 

Ranboo, heart in throat, peered outside the tent. Had he left Ender outside? 

The light of the forge glowed suddenly.

Ranboo blinked. Surely not… 

The door had been left open to let some of the smoke out. Ranboo opened it further, wincing at the loud scraping sound, and saw— 

Ender was in the forge. Ender was sitting, staring directly at the kiln, at the shifting colors of the embers. 

“Thank god,” Ranboo muttered, and lifted Ender up to his chest. He carried him firmly back to the tent. “You’re a nuisance.”

Ender wheezed out an unintelligible response, but as he wheezed,  _ sparks  _ flew out. 

Ranboo’s eyes went wide.

“Sparks,” he said, lips numb, “Oh, no.”

In response, Ender coughed— and Ranboo had just enough time to pull Ender away from his face before the smallest stream of fire emerged, brilliant and orange.

“You’re breathing fire,” Ranboo breathed, “Oh, god, no.” 

“What’s breathing fire?”

Everything in the world crawled to a stop. 

Ranboo was terribly aware of every fine detail in that moment. Claws digging into his shirt. Feet pressed against the floor. The cool autumn mist, drifting in. The way his heartbeat jumped, his lungs stopped collecting air, the world seemed to freeze around him. 

“Ranboo,” Techno said clearly, “Is that a dragon?” 

Ranboo turned slowly. His heart threatened to hammer out of his chest. 

“Ranboo,” Techno repeated, because Ranboo hadn’t responded, “What are you doing with a dragon?”

“It’s a baby,” Ranboo said, which was almost laughable. He had no idea  _ what  _ to say. What was he even supposed to do?

Something flickered through Techno’s eyes. 

“Ranboo,” he said, and held up a hand, “That dragon needs to go.”

“Wait—” Ranboo gasped, “ _ What?” _

“You need to get rid of that dragon,” Techno said, “I don’t know how long you’ve been keeping it here, or what else it’s done— that’s dangerous, and you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“But it’s a baby.” His mouth moved before his mind could catch up with it, “He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“You need to let that dragon go,” Techno repeated. His tone made it very clear he wasn’t up for arguments. 

“ _ No!” _

“Go,” Techno said, “Or I’ll make it.” 

Ranboo summoned every last scrap of bravery he had, all the information he had learned, and took a wild leap of faith.

He said, “I’m not abandoning him like you abandoned Tommy.” 

The tent fell dead silent.

Techno moved suddenly and without warning. The edge of a blade pressed into Ranboo’s throat and his back slammed into a beam. Ender panicked, clawed to escape from Ranboo’s shirt, scrabbling across the entire room. A strangled gasp escaped from Ranboo’s throat. 

“Don’t you dare speak about things you don’t understand,” Techno hissed.

Ranboo opened his mouth, but no words escaped. His vision crackled black around the edges.

“I don’t give a  _ fuck  _ who you are,” Techno snapped, “I don’t give a fuck if you think you know my life history or the things I’ve been through. You’re nothing to me, do you hear me?”

Ranboo, terrified, nodded.

“You’re  _ nothing,”  _ Techno threatened. 

Something inside Ranboo crumpled. 

“Get out of my sight,” Techno ordered, and just as quickly, his knife pulled away from Ranboo, was sheathed at his side. 

Ranboo placed careful hands to his throat. There was no pain, but he didn’t think he was even able to speak. Every inch of his body shook.

“Go!” Techno shouted, and Ranboo bolted.

Feet pounded against the earth. His chest hurt. Ranboo pressed a hand to it and it came away slick with blood, where Ender struggled to get away from him. They were shallow scratches, wouldn’t even scar, but the stinging ached. Ender wasn’t with him, either. Who knew what Techno would do? 

He only made it two more steps before he collapsed.

He hadn’t expected Techno to react so violently. 

Ranboo coughed. His throat hurt. 

He felt sick. 

He supposed that it was his fault, wasn’t it? For bringing up Tommy, whoever Tommy was. Ranboo had taken a wild guess, but it turned out he was closer to the truth than he knew. 

His knees dug into the ground. Ranboo scrubbed at his eyes, ripped his goggles off so his tears didn't hurt them. His eyes burned. 

It took him until the moon was sitting perfectly overhead before he managed to stagger back to his feet.

* * *

The tent was pitch black and eerily silent when Ranboo entered.

His throat was so tight he could barely breathe. For a fierce, wild moment, Ranboo wondered what he would do if Ender was gone. 

And out of the shadows, Ender bounded towards him.

“Ender!” Ranboo exclaimed joyously, and the dragon wound up his feet, crawled up his legs, settled right against his chest. Both their hearts beat faster, hammering out of their chests. “You’re safe, thank god, I’m so glad you’re safe.” 

Ender whistled a high pitched noise, and reddish-gold sparks flew from his nostrils. Ranboo ducked away before they sprayed into his face. 

“Stop it,” he muttered, and allowed Ender to cling to him. 

He approached Techno’s tent. It was the one place of the encampment that he had never been. 

He raised a hand unsteadily to— to knock? On the canvas? Ranboo realized that was a stupid idea, so he cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak, and right at the moment he did, the canvas swung to the side. 

“Ranboo,” Techno said, startled. “You’re back.”

It took several moments for Ranboo to register everything about the situation. Techno was in traveling clothes, dragon wrangler’s mask by his side. He had his bag packed, slung around his shoulders. Was he…

Techno filled in. “I was going to go find you.” 

Ranboo was struck dumb.

“Oh,” he said.

“But you came back,” Techno continued, and took an awkward step backwards. He opened his mouth, and Ranboo could clearly tell that the shape of the word  _ sorry  _ formed, but never escaped into sound. Techno closed his mouth, swallowed it back down. 

Instead, Techno tilted his head towards Ender, whose head was barely visible from underneath Ranboo’s shirt. “She’s a good dragon. I looked after her when you left.”

“She?”

The barest hint of a smile. “She’s a girl, yeah.”

Ranboo glanced down. “I, uh. I didn’t know that.”

“You learn something new every day, right?”

The sarcasm fell flat. They stood awkwardly, not sure of what to do. 

Ranboo was the first to break the silence, and he tried, “I wanted to say—”

Techno cut him off. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Ranboo shut up.

Techno glanced back, chewed the inside of his lip, and then said, “Come in, won’t you?”

Ranboo ducked under the canvas flap and entered, for the first time, into Techno’s room.

He knew that it was obsessively neat from the few glances he’s captured of it, but now he got to see the full extent of it. There was Techno’s bedroll, laid out in the corner, blankets rumpled. Two oil lanterns hung from where the support beams met one another. A wooden table with a chair was the only place that wasn’t spotless. The desk was covered in fragments of things; Ranboo saw broken tips of quills, empty inkpots, flattened pieces of paper. As if someone had been trying to write a letter and miserably failed. 

“Sit down,” Techno gestured vaguely, and he set his mask down. Slung his bag down to the side. He took a seat on his bed to remove his prosthetic and winced, rubbing at his leg. Now that he was seated, Ranboo could see how exhausted he looked. It was times like that which remind Ranboo how wholly human the two of them were.

Ranboo gestured to his chest, where Ender was still clinging to him. “Can I let her down?”

Techno waved his hand, which could have meant anything from  _ yes  _ to  _ no  _ to  _ I don’t care.  _ So Ranboo carefully untangled Ender from his limbs, even when Ender snapped at him for it, and placed her down. He took a seat next to her, cross-legged on the floor. The faint scratches on his chest stung, and Ranboo swallowed down the discomfort. 

“It’s nice in here,” Ranboo said awkwardly.

“Hm.”

“Very neat.”

“I try to keep it like that.”

Ranboo hesitated, “You had a letter, there. On the table.” 

“So I did.”

He dared to ask, “Who is it to?”

Techno tilted his head back, sighed. “Wilbur’s been trying to get me to write letters to the family more. You heard the argument.” 

Ranboo had heard; he remembered Wilbur coming out to him in the garden, after that, and entering back inside to a letter, ripped to pieces and smoldering. Whatever  _ Phil  _ had written— and Ranboo still didn’t know who Phil was— was long gone. 

“I didn’t know you had more family,” Ranboo said. 

“More than you know.”

There was stifling silence. The words stuck in Ranboo’s teeth, leaving behind the gumminess of discomfort. He ran his tongue over his teeth once, twice. Then he looked over at Techno, half silhouetted by the yellow light of the lantern, half shadowed by the weight of the canvas tent overhead. 

His room was very lived in. That was what Ranboo realized, quite suddenly. Techno had made a home out here. Somehow, he had allowed Ranboo to live in it as well.

The words waited on his tongue. Ranboo rolled them around in his mouth, tasted the syllables, and finally braved, “So who is Tommy?” 

Techno let out a dark chuckle. 

“Tommy is,” he started, and stopped. “He’s—”

Ranboo sat in silence and waited for Techno to finish.

“An old friend,” Techno said eventually. “A brother.”

“You have  _ two  _ brothers?”

“Technically three.” Techno’s voice was grudging. “Phil is out of the picture.”

“Phil,” Ranboo said. He knew the name. He had heard it before. Could now recognize it as the writer of all the letters that Techno had received. 

“Guess it’s time you learned, huh?” Techno laughed bitterly. “There’s Phil, me, Wilbur, Tommy. Only Wilbur has stuck around.” 

Ranboo swallowed. Something in Techno’s voice was curdled, sour. Like he was talking about memories that were long faded. 

Techno talked in fits and starts. In short clips, and he didn’t bother connecting his fragmented thoughts together. 

He started with, “It’s kind of a long story.”

Then there was silence, long enough that Ranboo wanted to say,  _ well, we’ve clearly got time, haven’t we? _

Techno broke the silence again. “Not really that long, though. It takes some energy to tell.”

He said: “I told myself I wouldn’t take another apprentice after him. Was stupid to think it was worth it.” 

Then: “He lied to me, didn’t he? Phil once called it betrayal. I stopped reading his letters after that.”

And then: “Wilbur thinks I should apologize.”

“Are you going to apologize?” Ranboo whispered. 

A dry laugh. “Never. I’m not one for apologies.”

“I can tell,” Ranboo muttered. 

“I have nothing to apologize for,” Techno said, “Regardless.”

Ranboo wasn’t entirely sure that was true, but from the scattered, fragmented thoughts that Techno had given him, he could piece together the barebones of it all. He was sure that he had a biased perspective; that was the only perspective he had gotten. But Ranboo couldn’t remember the last time he had read a letter from his parents— not that they had ever sent one, or intended to. Ranboo wasn’t sure whether he still cared about them at all. He had these memories, gathered together in the cloth knapsack of his mind, spilling at the brim with the taste of frying meat, the sound of horses moving through the street, the feel of parchment beneath his fingers, the glint of sunlight off a brass key, the scent of fresh rainfall— but he had no idea whether his parents felt the same.

He supposed he had a soft spot, then, for bringing families back together.

“Well,” Ranboo said, “Whoever Tommy is now, he sounds pretty cool.” 

A moment of silence. 

“You’re like him,” Techno said. “Only a little bit.” 

“I heard.”

“Hm?”

“When you and Wilbur were talking,” Ranboo said, “You said that I reminded you of someone, and then Wilbur mentioned Tommy.” 

Techno hummed. “Probably shouldn’t have been talking so loudly.”

“It’s my fault for eavesdropping,” Ranboo fumbled. 

“Not really.”

“It is, though, I shouldn’t have been—”

“Stop rambling,” Techno said firmly, and Ranboo shut up. 

There was a beat. Ranboo waited, nervous and on the edge. 

Finally Techno said, “Tommy’s a mechanic too. Or was. Though he uses more magic than you do.”

“I’m not one for magic,” Ranboo said.

“That’s okay,” Techno said, “Tommy never used to be good at it, either. He ended up making a lot of things. He made this—” Techno gestured to his leg, the pants leg limp without the prosthetic in, “I told him I would keep using it.”

That was understandable. Ranboo nodded. 

He dared asking, “Was he— did he like dragons?”

Both of their attentions turned to Ender, sleeping beside Ranboo. Her head was tucked underneath her wing, her tail curled beside Ranboo. 

“He was just as annoying as you are about them,” Techno said, which was enough of an answer in itself. “He never did anything like  _ this,  _ though.”

Ranboo winced. “I  _ am  _ sorry about this.”

“Hm.”

“I set a lot of things on fire,” Ranboo blurted, “And I smashed that vase. Twice. Ender did. And she was the one who ruined the side of the tent that we had to replace, and—”

“I figured,” Techno said amusedly, “I don’t know how you hid her from me for so long.”

“A lot of effort,” Ranboo said. “Or you’re just getting slow.”

A blink. “You’d better be joking.”

“Of course,” said Ranboo hastily, “I would never make fun of you.” 

The sun had risen by that point.  Neither of them were getting any sleep. Ranboo’s eyes felt stiff and stung slightly from staring so long at the flickering glare of a lantern. Techno must have felt the same, though he didn’t show it. He only winced when he shifted positions.

Ranboo yawned. He realized how exhausted he was, and his mind strayed to the idea of his bedroll, only a few feet away, warm and soft and welcoming. It was nearly confirmed to his weight by now, pressed flat. His back and legs and joints creaked with how uncomfortably he was sitting. Ender hissed at the quick movement, before tucking her head back under her tail and falling asleep. Her wings stretched out, still too small to hold her aloft, and then tucked around her body again. Ranboo watched and found that if dragons could imprint upon humans, then the same could certainly happen for humans to dragons. He didn’t want to leave Ender for one moment.

“Well,” Techno said abruptly, “Good talk.”

“Good talk,” Ranboo echoed, “It’s morning now, I can’t believe it.”

He yawned again, and Techno raised an eyebrow, “You’d better not be sleeping. Don’t you have chores to do?” 

Ranboo blinked, eyes half closed, and scowled. “Are you serious?”

A flicker. Almost a smile, across Techno’s face. 

“Go one,” Techno said, “You’re an apprentice, after all.”

Ranboo looked at him for a moment, half upset, half fond, and found in Techno’s eyes something that compelled him to get up, haul a bucket of icy water from the underground river, move over to the planter, even when his head felt as if it were stuffed with cobwebs and lint. He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t put a word to it, but he thought maybe that he and Techno would be alright. And they would work themselves out. 

* * *

One day passed, then another. One morning Ranboo hauled himself out of bed to see the faint clouds of dust on the horizon that signaled more mail. Ranboo took it with damp hands when it arrived.

He went through the letters, one after the next. Half of them were useless. There was nothing for him, because there never was, and he came across two letters at the bottom.

One of them wasn’t a letter. It was a postcard of a snowy landscape, complete with painted snowflakes and pine trees. On the back was scribbled,  _ (9/21). you owe me. w.s. _

A faint smile spread across Ranboo’s face, and he turned to the next letter. This one was the same square envelope he had received for the last few months. The front of it read:  _ to techno.  _ A red wax seal, stamped with two birds’ wings. 

Ranboo looked at it as he entered back inside the tent and waved farewell to the mailman, who disappeared in a wave of dust. Techno was surely still asleep, but Ranboo slid the two letters inside his room anyway. 

He wasn’t sure whether Techno would read them or not, but he got his response that afternoon.

“We’re going traveling tomorrow,” Techno said, “Bring Ender.”

Excitement leaped into Ranboo’s chest. “We’re seeing the dragons?”

“And you’re coming along this time,” Techno’s tone was laced in amusement. “Be ready.”

Techno delayed it an hour after he woke up— two hours— until Ranboo was nearly shivering out of his skin with excitement. He could sense that Techno was delaying it on purpose, but that didn’t make it any less annoying. It took what felt like an endless amount of time before Techno finally turned to him and said  _ well? Are you ready? _

“Of course I am,” said Ranboo, irritated and beyond relieved, “Let’s go!”

* * *

Halfway along the ride, Techno slowed their horses to a slow trot instead of a canter. It gave the horses a blessed moment to regain some energy, and it gave Techno and Ranboo some time to talk as well. 

Ranboo looked ahead to where the heat shimmered from the ground, distorting the far landmarks. He kept looking up to the sky, too, though they were hours from seeing any sign of the herd.

“It’ll be a while,” Techno said, “They’re in the middle of migration.”

“Hm.”

“Moving towards the north, where their nests are. They’ll stay there for the winter.” 

“Hm.” 

Techno paused for a moment. He turned, looked curiously at Ranboo.

“I thought you’d be more excited,” he said. “Aren’t dragons supposed to be your life’s work?”

The question went straight to Ranboo’s core. He fought for a way to put it into words. His mouth opened, closed, and Ranboo eventually said, “Last time.”

Techno’s expression shifted into something of keen understanding.

“The elder dragon,” he said. 

Ranboo nodded.

Techno turned his gaze towards the horizon. He, too, seemed to be figuring out the best way to talk. 

He settled on this: “It’s an illness. A cancer, of a sort.”

“Ah.”

“It’s found in older dragons and it stunts them, and it spreads too easily to other members of the herd or nest. She was in pain, and blind. You could tell.”

“But…” Ranboo tried to find words, “Wouldn’t it have been better to wait for a natural death? If she was so close?”

Techno didn’t say anything for a long moment.

“There’s something to be said for mercy,” he said eventually. “And when someone asks for something, I’ll give it to them.”

Something dark flashed through his eyes.

Ranboo pieced it together: “Did the dragon want to die?”

Techno’s face was hollow.

Slowly, he nodded.

“Oh,” Ranboo said.

“Oh,” Techno echoed. 

That was a bitter realization to come to. 

But it absolved Techno of some of the anger and shame that Ranboo had been harboring towards him. It made him feel a little better about Ender, resting at his back, tail curled over his ankle and snorting out puffs of smoke every time she exhaled. It made him feel a little better about the life that Ender would have. 

“If it makes you feel better,” Techno said, “I think Ender is living a better life with you than she would be with anyone else.” 

Ranboo ducked his head. “I hope so.”

He glanced up at the sun, magnified one of the lenses. He couldn’t see the wing of a dragon, swooping across the sky, but he could tell they were close. 

“We’re almost there,” Techno said. “Just a few more minutes.”

* * *

The dragons swooped down from the sun, just the same as they had done before, and Ranboo’s heart leaped into his throat. There was something otherworldly, terrible, dangerous about them. Creatures made of magic, creatures too large for the world. They were volatile and powerful and could crush Ranboo underfoot without even recognizing he was there at all, but now they shifted like the mass of the sea, and landed in a ringed circle around him. Techno stood at his back, familiar and watchful, and Ender clung to his shoulders. 

Ranboo could sense that Ender was nervous. If he didn’t know better, he might say that the baby dragon was shaking. 

Techno, however, didn’t seem shaken at all. In fact, he was nearly brimming with satisfaction.

“I thought so,” Techno said.

Ranboo felt vaguely uncomfortable, particularly with how Ender was shivering, ducked behind the nape of his neck, and he turned frightened eyes on Techno. “What?”

“Bonded,” Techno gestured with two fingers, “You’re welcomed as part of the pack.”

Ranboo looked at the largest dragon, spotted and iridescent and gleaming. She was the closest to royalty he would ever see. Her eyes were luminous, vibrant. There was no hint of malice in them.

“Part of the pack,” Ranboo said. His fingertips were quivering. “Like…”

“You have a kid,” Techno said, and gestured to Ender, “They view you as— well, there isn’t a good word for it. You’re one of them.”

“Me,” Ranboo said in amazement, half unbelieving, and stared again at the dragon, who had ducked her head. 

“You,” Techno said again. 

Ranboo took a tentative step forward, and Ender shied away. 

_ It’s okay,  _ Ranboo wanted to say, though he was shaking too, like an autumn leaf in a hurricane wind. The dragon’s eyes were massive, and all it would take was one movement of her claw, one breath of fire, and Ranboo would be incinerated. There would be nothing left of him but dust.

Instead, he slowly raised a hand. Trembling. Unsteady. The dragon eyed him, barbed and scaly and otherworldly and ethereal, and lowered her head to his hand.

He stroked her nose. His heart raced. His palm pressed flat against the head of a massive beast, centuries old, who had seen empires rise and fall and would live long past Ranboo did.

“Amazing,” Ranboo whispered; the word slipped out before he could rein it back in.

“Amazing,” Techno agreed, so quiet Ranboo could barely hear him.

* * *

The morning dawned, bright and dewy, and brought rainfall.

Ranboo had slept in; they had arrived back home after visiting the dragon herd very late, almost to when the sun had started to bloom on the horizon. By his best guess it was nearly noon, though the rain blocked out the sun. He couldn’t tell time by it. 

Techno, it appeared, hadn’t slept at all. He was sitting by the entrance, where the most natural light flooded in. Ender was sitting next to him, her ears perked and nose angled towards the sky. She had gotten to like Techno more, though Ranboo couldn’t understand why. It must have had something to do with the fact that Techno had a bag full of dried jerky and when Ender clawed at him, Techno always gave her some. Ranboo suspected that Ender may have had a new favorite. 

“It’s almost autumn,” Techno said, when he noticed Ranboo standing there. He jerked his chin outdoors. “It’ll start getting cold soon.”

Ranboo stuck his hand outdoors, and nearly instantly drew it back in. There was a storm brewing on the horizon. 

“Does it ever snow?” 

“If we were more north,” Techno answered, “Maybe.” 

His tone was contemplative, interested. It sounded as if he were thinking about something— but then again, when was Techno  _ not  _ thinking about something? 

Ranboo stared at the rain, pattering down in gentle rivulets to the earth. It covered the horizon completely, shadowed out the sun, and brought a fresh scent that couldn’t be found anywhere else. The rain cooled everything down significantly, too. He had the urge to sit by a fireplace and relax. 

Instead Ranboo emerged hesitantly out into the rain. It trickled down his hair, soaked into his clothes, poured in splashes down his shirt and pants, gathered in puddles by his feet, chilled him to the core. Around him the entire earth was being watered. It would grow, green and lush, when the rainfall ended.

Ranboo stood, face tilted toward the rain, and allowed his eyes to close. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, if you enjoyed, please leave kudos/comments, they are hugely appreciated! thank you for reading this fic as well, it really means a lot <3


End file.
